After the SVW Terry Boot Archivist?
by Les Dowich
Summary: After the War, injured veteran Terry Boot cannot become an Auror so he decides to put his Ravenclaw skills to some use. This is dedicated to the long-suffering Librarians EVERYWHERE. God help them, every one!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of Harry Potter, even though I would like to. I don't make any money from Harry Potter and I don't really care, I do it because I like it.

_**Excerpt from 'Reconstruction of a Death Eater'**_

_Terry Boot was down to one werewolf. Black Bess, as he had christened her, was limping as heavily as was he. They had fought trolls time and again, taken out untold numbers of enemy werewolves and even a couple of the less wary Death Eaters but now they were tired and at the end of their stamina. Which was why, he supposed, they made a mistake. The troll they had picked up a few hundred metres into the grounds seemed to be the Einstein of trolls, and as tenacious on their trail as a bloodhound._

_Bess had nipped the troll's heels until they bled and been clipped by a foot in the process, hence the limp. Terry had cast Stupefy so many times his voice was getting hoarse but nothing affected the huge, shambling hulk. If they had not been so tired they could probably have outrun the creature but they had both had enough, too much, really. Terry stumbled again and Bess ran into his legs, lost her footing and landed a paw on a discarded blade, slicing the pad wide open. She yelped trying to limp on two legs, slowing them both just enough that the troll managed to take another swing at her. Terry threw his weight onto her back, slamming her into the dirt and covering her body with his as another troll approached from the opposite direction, both creatures raising their clubs to beat the pair to death. Incapacitated and incapable of doing anything to save themselves, wolf and man waited for death, that didn't come._

_There was a surprised troll grunt then a double thump and Terry raised his head just enough to see hooves in front of his nose. Strong hands reached down and lifted him as easily as if he was a child, settling him on a broad, horse-smelling back covered in rich chestnut hair._

_A second centaur lifted Black Bess and draped her across the withers in front of Terry and a deeply amused voice murmured that he should hold onto his puppy. Stunned and disbelieving, Terry did as he was told and the centaur he was riding turned carefully to slip between the trees of the Forbidden Forest and out of sight._

_**Chapter 01**_

The trees were dim and cool, smelling of pine and leaf mould as the centaur moved carefully through the undergrowth bearing them deeper into the Forbidden Forest. A rustle was all the warning they had before a huge hand grabbed the centaur by the chest and lifted. Terry and Bess tumbled free as the giant proceeded to tear the poor centaur to pieces.

A huge, hairy foot snapped Terry's leg like a twig and he screamed, catapulted into darkness, the final straw in a day of trauma and tension. He did not see the centaur herd come sweeping down through the trees, did not hear the thrum of arrows or the bay of a wolf as Black Bess hamstrung the creature despite her injuries. Nor was he aware of the nightmare journey back to the centaur village where the oldest centaur supervised the binding of his shattered knee. Unfortunately, humans and werewolves were not equine and not something the centaur healer knew a lot about. After a short, but acrimonious, discussion with the herd elders, a decision was made.

A hand brushed his brow gently, a cool cloth as soothing to his flesh as the soft crooning song was to his soul. He could not move! It should have terrified him but the soft bedding under his back and the gentle hands soothing him was reassuring enough to let him drift off again.

Voices woke him, arguing over his head, loud and insistent. Three people seemed to be taking three completely different parts and he wished they would just go away and leave him to sleep in peace. Again, the soft hand brushed his hair away from his face but a soft, low, rumbling growl told a different story.

"Enough!" A voice he recognised finally quelled the incipient riot. "Healer Johanson, you say the leg should be removed, there is no way to heal it. Healer Boden, you say the leg is healable but the knee will always be weak although there will be no pain and the boy will limp. Miss Black - do stop growling – what do you think?"

The growling ceased and a contralto female voice spoke over his head. "Keep it, who knows what the future will bring, a new technique perhaps. If the leg is gone then so is all hope."

Terry felt like cheering but he couldn't muster the strength, instead, he slept.

Dappled sunlight played over his face, golden and warm. He smiled and tipped his head to catch the golden beams on his eyelids, enjoying the warmth. A bird sang close by, a sweet trill of sound that spoke of lazy summer mornings and long warm days. A shadow moved between him and the sun and he opened his eyes in protest for the loss, his jaw dropping. A white haired centaur stood over him, a bowl in his hands. With a creaky grace, the old creature bent and settled his horse body onto the ground beside the couch and slid a strong arm under Terry's head. The youth hadn't realised he was terribly thirsty until the cool, sweet water touched his lips then he gulped it down eagerly.

The old centaur smiled. "How do you feel?" he asked in a soft, accented tone that seemed to blend perfectly with the morning.

"Alive," Terry managed on his second try, his throat sore and rasping.

"That is as it should be. You were gravely injured and it took much strength to heal you. Your friend wept but never faltered, a true friend indeed." The centaur gestured with his chin and Terry turned his head to a bundle of blankets on the ground beside him. A sweep of curling black hair was all there was to be seen of the occupant under the woven fabric. "Her words saved your leg from the madman who would have crippled you for life."

Terry absorbed the words and glanced down at his own, fabric covered body, seeing the lumps of two feet. One set of toes wriggled, the other simply sent a lash of fire up his leg, telling him in no uncertain terms that movement would be punished. He gasped and the centaur smiled knowingly.

"Sleep, young human, while the potions work."

oo0oo

Elizabeth Black had never been a beautiful woman, tall, heavy boned and solid. Being bitten by a werewolf just before her sixteenth birthday had done nothing to help her portray any delicacy of form or figure. Now, at twenty-three, she was very glad of having arms like a weight lifter as she picked Terry up once again and steadied him against her chest until he caught his breath and managed to conquer the rolling waves of pain flowing through his damaged leg.

"You have to take it easy," she murmured softly in his ear, inhaling his scent and judging how the pain was going. "Rest, you're exhausted and will accomplish nothing until you relax once again."

Terry wanted to fight her words but he was just too tired. "I feel like such a baby," he protested querulously as she literally picked him up and carried him back to his bed.

"You aren't a baby, you are a convalescent. Soon, you will be well enough to leave the Forbidden Forest and go back to Hogwarts," Elizabeth told him evenly, although the words hurt her. She had to admit, if only to herself, that these few weeks in the forest with this man who had fought beside her had been special. He was now pack and it would kill her when they had to part ways, but she wouldn't hold him against his will, that would be very foolish.

A huge sigh drew her attention away from her melancholy thoughts. "I'm not looking forward to that, I can tell you. So many dead, so much destruction…. I don't… what if…" His voice trailed off into unhappy speculation and Elizabeth stroked his hair away from his forehead before dropping a kiss on his brow.

"It's full moon in two days. I have to go pick up my Wolfsbane Potion and a few things, so I will Apparate home this afternoon and grab some stuff, including the newspapers for you. Then, once full moon is over, I think we need to consider rejoining the world. The centaurs have done everything they could for us and now it is time to face the rest of the wizarding world."

Terry wrinkled his nose but nodded reluctantly. "It hardly seems any time since we arrived but a whole month?"

"Er, two months actually, you spent the first six weeks unconscious," she murmured, watching her hands wring themselves in her lap.

"Wow, who would have thought? Oh no, do my parents know I'm still alive?"

"Yes, I owled them as soon as it was clear that you would live. They did not owl you back," she added with a slight growl in her voice.

"No, they wouldn't. Dad didn't mind my fighting in the war but Mum was dead set against it, thought I should just ignore the whole thing and keep my nose out of other people's business." He smiled wryly when Elizabeth blinked in astonishment. "Mum is a Muggle and Dad is from a Muggleborn family. We keep ties in both worlds and Mum thought that, if we left the wizarding world, all would be well. Of course, it would not, but there you go; ostrich syndrome, I think. If you put your head in the sand far enough then no one can see you."

Elizabeth grinned, showing rather pointed teeth this close to full moon. "My Father was a Black, cadet branch; Mother was from a Muggleborn family too. Good to know we have that much in common, a foot in each culture. Thanks to Mother, I have enough property and money in the Muggle world that the prohibition on werewolves does not affect me at all. Father made sure I had enough Muggle wealth so that no one could deprive me of my liberty, even if they tried."

"Bet that irritated the hell out of the Ministry," Terry grinned.

"Bet your sweet buttons it did. I have a hundred acre property with a cottage and enough warding charms to contain me even without Wolfsbane. Enough money to purchase anything I want, either in Galleons or Pounds, and enough family prestige to keep the Ministry hounds at bay." She smirked most charmingly and Terry grinned back, giving her a one armed hug.

"I'm glad. I would hate to think you were cast out like Professor Lupin or most of the werewolves I've met. You know, that would be the one reason I ever joined the Ministry - which is what my father wants me to do - to help change the laws governing Magical creatures and get the werewolves taken out of that category. It's bloody ridiculous to try and dehumanise you, you are the kindest, most compassionate person I know, and so is Professor Lupin, or should that be 'was' I wonder," he added gloomily.

Elizabeth bent and licked the side of his neck unselfconsciously. "Get some sleep, I'll be back soon," she murmured and turned away, leaving Terry watching wistfully as she faded into the surrounding trees. He loved the way she moved, silent and powerful, unconscious of her grace in the natural environment they inhabited. Centaurs build very few structures, the canopy over his bed being one of the only ones in the clearing that was clearly a centaur village.

Young foals seemed to treat him as a rather scary stranger, some were belligerently brave, some were shy and skittish, but all came to listen when he told stories at evening. Even the mares had settled down, finally trusting that the Human would not eat or capture their children. Once in a while the adolescent young stallions would come stomping and tossing their manes, trying to intimidate or scare him but they never truly hurt him, as he lay injured and rather vulnerable, if they became vicious. The elder centaurs went about their business with no sign of recognition for the most part. The only time the village stallion had approached he had stared down for a few moments then shook his head and wandered off as if he could not fathom why his father, the healer, wanted such a strange pet as an injured wizard.

It was all very bucolic but Terry knew he would have to return to his own world soon, much as he was not looking forward to it.

oo0oo

It was worse than he thought! The centaurs carried him to the edge of the trees, to where the underbrush still hid them from the view of the half a dozen wizards who waited impatiently on the grassy bank that divided the tame from the wild. Their goodbyes had already been said that morning, words of wisdom and star predictions from the elders, wreaths of flowers from the foals, a hand carved stone knife from one of the adolescents.

When Terry's carrier Tantor stopped, Elizabeth stepped up and carefully helped Terry down then swung him up into her arms. He felt a bit of a fool being carried like a baby but even he had to admit that his fragile knee would not hold him up if he tried to walk over the uneven ground of the forest floor.

Terry recognised Madam Pomfrey and his parents but the others were strangers to him and obviously they were upsetting Elizabeth who was unconsciously growling deep in her throat. He stroked her neck, distracting her and making her smile faintly as the school mediwitch floated a stretcher forward and indicated he was to be deposited. Reluctantly, Elizabeth relinquished her burden and was quickly elbowed aside by Terry's parents and the mediwitch who tossed a blanket over him.

The other three strangers began to jostle for position, one pulling a camera out and pointing it at the crowd. When the stretcher was bumped Terry groaned and Elizabeth snarled viciously, one long fingered hand clamping on the nearest shoulder and bodily tossing the man aside without any effort at all. The photographer squarked as a second body landed on top of him.

Pandemonium ensued until Terry managed to bellow 'shut up' over the top of the ensuing panic. Elizabeth's head immediately swivelled towards him, her growling dropping back to a soft accompaniment. His parents looked shocked and the reporters stunned. Madam Pomfrey took immediate advantage of the ensuing stillness to whisk her patient off to the hospital wing in the almost restored Hogwarts before anyone else could interfere.

"… and I'm going to take up Professor Dumbledore's offer to finish my NEWTs over the summer holidays," Terry told his parents softly as they sat beside his bed.

His mother beamed delightedly, gripping his hand and squeezing in approval. His father also nodded but with a little more restraint. "And then what do you mean to do?" he asked gently.

"Join the Ministry; not much else for me to do with this bum knee, is there?" Terry smiled wryly, trying not to be bitter about it. "Look, I am a good student and I have a lot of knowledge that most NEWTs level students never get to study. Having Hermione Granger-Malfoy assign extra study and reading really expands your horizons," he teased when his parents' mouths tightened a little. "What? Malfoy? You have no idea of how important he was to our victory, none at all! His father might have been a Premier Death Eater but Draco was a General on our side and a bloody good one at that and don't you, or anyone else, forget it!"

"Don't swear, dear," his mother said almost automatically. "Perhaps what you say is true, but he is a Malfoy, after all."

Terry shook his head in disgust. "And I'm a Boot; but that doesn't mean anyone can immediately categorise me and assign attributes that are just not true, does it? Harry is a Potter but he is not a bullying pureblood with a superiority complex, is he? He's a complete goof at times, and a bad tempered prat, and a really good guy, too; but he is not to be categorised and pigeonholed because of who his family was."

There was a stunned silence then his father coughed discretely. "Well, regardless, I hope you do well in your NEWTs and get the position you want in the Ministry. What can we do to help?"

"See what is available when I need a job," Terry hazarded, accepting the olive branch his father offered with a sigh.

"Will you be coming home once you finish school?" Mrs Boot asked eagerly. "We have your old room ready, all decorated and nice for you."

A sigh gusted out. "I'm sorry Mum, but no. I have other things to do and coming home to live is not on the cards, but I will visit, I promise."

"You are going off with that… that werewolf, aren't you?"

"Mum!" Terry snapped then glared grimly. "And that is the attitude I have fought so hard to destroy; that stupid prejudice that causes more pain and suffering than any bloody dark lord wannabe ever could. Elizabeth is a loyal and dedicated soldier of the light, she is a talented artist and a great conversationalist, but all you can think of is 'werewolf'. Everything else about her is ignored except for one thing she cannot help or get rid of. Did you go insane because Grandma had cancer, an equally insidious and nasty disease that destroyed her life? Of course you didn't, you simply accepted and did what you could to treat her disease until it went into remission. Why should werewolves be treated any differently?"

"Because cancer doesn't turn people into wild animals who go around attacking and infecting other people!" Rebecca Boot snarled viciously and crossed her arms defensively.

"Neither do the majority of werewolves; but that is a fact you, and everyone else, will so conveniently ignore," Terry roared back equally angrily, shaking off his father's restraining hand with a rough shrug of his shoulders. "No, let's be very clear on this. Werewolves are people first and foremost and it is about time that the average wizard in the street got over their stupid fears and started using their brains for something other than keeping their heads from collapsing. Without werewolves, we would all have been under the heels of a worse monster than a bloody werewolf can ever be and if it takes a lifetime, I vow I am going to make sure people understand that fundamental fact completely."

The silence his declaration caused, seemed to ring with the strength of his convictions; the magic of Hogwarts wrapping around his words and setting them into the stone of the castle. Hogwarts would promote his cause and support his vow from that moment onward.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 02**_

The gardens and lawns surrounding Hogwarts were finally looking better, more like they had before the world went mad. The trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest had grown calluses over the broken branch ends and a flush of green hid the worst of the torn up earth. The flowerbeds were blooming once again, not as prolifically or as lushly without Pomona Sprout's guiding hand but there were flowers nodding in the breeze. A number of the fantastic topiary animals were gone, torn up or cursed into misshapen lumps but one day someone would re-sculpt the bushes into something equally as interesting. The great courtyard where the main battle between Voldemort and Harry Potter had taken place was finally whole again, the huge flagstones levitated into place to cover the gouged earth, the enormous marble throne Voldemort had brought with him dismantled and spirited away. The castle had reabsorbed the crenulations around the top of the Great Hall and all the scars on her stonework had been absorbed and faded to almost unnoticeable.

Albus and Minerva strolled along the restored paths arm in arm, the warm sun beating down on their heads, the cool breeze stopping it from becoming unpleasant. The Ministry had agreed that Hogwarts needed both a headmaster and a headmistress in these unsettled times; two strong people to lead the school and set the example of cooperation for the rest of the wizarding world. Both older people had worked together for so long, they were almost able to read each other's minds; and it made the running of the school so much easier. They paused beside the fountain in the remains of the rose garden, taking a seat on the fountain's wide ledge and surveying the severely pruned and reduced rosebushes. Both were saddened but here and there they spotted a new red shoot; a touch of new leaf growth in amongst the twigs and sticks.

"A bit like our own world, eh, my dear?" Dumbledore murmured softly as they rested.

"Humm, new life arising from the ruins of the old, unexpected, unstoppable and gratefully received," Minerva replied in similar dreamy tones. "Do you think our world will ever grow up and change?"

"Oh yes, certainly, and Hogwarts pupils will be at the fore of the movement toward a more enlightened and forward looking society. I do wish there was more we could do for Severus. It's sad to see him so closed off from the world again."

"I know it is not wise to speak ill of the dead but, _damn_ Scrimgeour! How could he do that to Severus with no conscience at all?" Minerva was furious and did not mind Albus knowing it.

The old man sighed. "The only way to remedy that would be with a time-turner and you know what a bad idea that would be. Now, Minerva, you know the old saying, 'what cannot be cured must be endured', and we must make sure Severus can endure until he allows himself to be healed. So, are you ready for the show tomorrow? It should make a lot of people sit up and take notice, don't you think?"

"Old Man, it is liable to get you lynched," Minerva said severely then giggled like a school girl. "I can't wait to see their faces!"

oo0oo

Terry lounged under a willow and massaged his knee absentmindedly as he stared out over the lake. Tomorrow he would see Elizabeth for the first time in months and he was looking forward to the meeting. They had corresponded, owls flying across country every few days; but, as he had promised his parents, they had not physically met. To Terry's mind all the prohibitions had accomplished was to make the heart grow fonder. Away from the intensity of the fight and the emotional dependency of the sickbed, they had explored each other's ideas and knowledge, how they thought and what they believed in, and each had found the other good.

Elizabeth was indeed an artist, her letters littered with little thumbnails of her thoughts and what she had seen, some funny, some exquisitely delicate and beautiful. Terry had framed a couple of pages of letters, the drawings too perfect to hide away in his trunk. He had sent Elizabeth little gifts too, a quote from a poem he had read, a book he had enjoyed and a couple of perfectly formed leaves he had found in the grounds. The first hyper-intense wash of feelings had transmuted into something stronger and more long lasting over the months, which was probably not the effect his mother had been looking for.

Still, meeting again in a huge crowd of people and having to go up and accept medals for bravery was one thing. Getting up there was quite another. The 'stage' had a flight of seven steps up and another flight of seven steps down. Terry had looked at them with dread as he didn't do steps anymore, not successfully or gracefully. Even Hogwarts had realised that fact when Terry had fallen quite badly down two flights on one of his first days out of the infirmary. The castle had since become adept at manifesting odd little corridors for his use. Now, when he left the Ravenclaw common room and turned into the small dusty corridor on the left, it took him ten steps to the Great Hall which was actually two wings east and four flights of steps lower. If he wanted the library or the Potions Lab the same corridor took him to those destinations in the shortest physical distance possible. It was a sort of Corridor of Requirement just for him as it didn't work for anyone else and Terry appreciated Hogwarts' thoughtfulness.

'_Oh well,'_ he thought, scrambling ungracefully to his feet. '_If I fall then someone will just have to catch me.'_

oo0oo

The crowd was just as large and varied as Terry had expected, just as many bodies jostling for places in the massed rows of seating before the veiled monument Professor Dumbledore had spent so much time in creating. Terry stood at the common room window and watched the people assemble, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"Are you ready for it?" a voice asked, and Rosemary Asquith stopped beside him, her own battle scars still livid on the side of her face. She had been in the battle of the greenhouses and had survived the pulling down of the stones.

"No, but there is little choice, so we had better face the music bravely; after all, they are going to give us a bloody medal for courage, aren't they?" Terry snorted in disgust as he turned away and fitted the cuff of his aluminium cane over his wrist, leaning heavily on the Muggle device for stability.

"There are probably worse fates in the world," Rosemary commented as she followed her fellow seventh-year out.

The din of the crowd was horrendous as a first-year met them in the courtyard and led them to their places. Terry was surprised to see he had been allocated a seat in the second row, right behind the ministers and dignitaries. The seat beside him remained empty for some time until a cloaked and hooded figure slid silently into place at his left shoulder. He grinned and didn't bother turning his head as he slid a hand over to grasp the hand held out to him. Raising their clasped hands, he kissed the knuckles entwined in his. A faint, snuffling noise made him smile.

"I'd know you anywhere," he murmured against the pale, bronzed flesh.

"Missed you," she murmured back. "Present."

The small package was placed in his lap, the box covered in soft brown leather. Terry opened it with one hand and swallowed when he saw the beautifully made miniature walking stick nestled in the velvet bed. The handle gleamed like silver, cast in the shape of a sleeping wolf, the bands and ferule of the same silvery metal, the shaft of black ebony.

"Its beautiful, but…"

"Made it myself; not silver, self adjusting and will support your knee as well as your elbow, better than the Muggle thing," she assured him gravely, turning to face him for the first time.

Terry leaned into her hood and kissed her gently. "Thank you, love," he murmured and was somewhat amused to see the girl turn a pretty shade of pink, a smile making her lips lift slightly.

"Welcome," she murmured, kissing him back. "Think it will be awful?"

"Completely," Terry agreed.

It was as bad as predicted, the speeches and the posturing by the politicians just as infuriating and as pathetic as Terry had expected. At a particularly fatuous and sickeningly sentimental remark Elizabeth even growled low in her throat, the rumbling sound upsetting the Minister for Games who was seated just in front of them.

"Makes you wonder why we bothered to come," Elizabeth sniffed in disgust.

"Because we have earned the honour, because future generations need to remember what we did and why we did it, because the people who didn't fight need to have our blood rubbed on their faces to remind them why they are still free," Terry muttered as the first of the names was read out.

When Harry Potter mounted the stage there was a concerted ooh of awe, making Terry's lips twitch when he noticed the slight flinch in Potter's shoulders. Still, the Boy-Who-Lived managed to stroll forward and stood absolutely still as Professor Dumbledore and the Acting Minister for Magic pinned on half a dozen of the most prestigious medals awarded in the wizarding world, including a never before seen Founders Medal of Valour. It was only as he left the stage that he required an escort, and the rumours of his blinding were confirmed.

For every medal received there were four posthumous medals awarded, often picked up by parents who looked angered or grieved according to their natures'. When Severus Snape was awarded a Merlin first class as well as a Founders Medal of Valour, there were a number of disbelieving snorts; but the dour professor discounted the audience, and swirled off in a cloud of darkness, ignoring them all. Terry sighed, joining in the applause from those who knew of his role in the war, remembering how the man had looked as he showed them the intricate world of forensic potions, so alive and intense, not dead-eyed and brooding. When Remus Lupin was called upon to receive a Merlin first class and a Founders Medal of Valour there again was a murmur of intense speculation but applause was heard, especially from a scattering of hooded figures throughout the audience.

When Professor Dumbledore began to introduce the candidates for the strike force, Terry noticed Elizabeth was getting a little twitchy. "What are you up to?" he murmured. The hood twitched and she squeezed his hand ever so gently as she rose and slid the cloak off her shoulders as the professor announced the Derry Girls Pack. Ten women scattered throughout the audience wore the uniform of the pack, plain Muggle denim jeans, boots and a jacket with their pack logo on the back; a whimsical wolf wearing a very feminine robe. They strode forward and lined up silently as the first of the posthumous medals were awarded. Of the seventy-two names called, sixty-two were dead and a slow dawning of realisation crept over the audience. A few were even moved to tears but Terry nearly hexed the official in front who murmured that the only good werewolf was a dead werewolf. He made a note of the man and his department, determined to do something very nasty to the prejudiced git as soon as he could manage it.

When Terry's turn came to receive a medal he shivered and rose carefully, limping heavily to the stairs which still seemed insurmountable. Shaking his head in disgust he managed two of the seven before his balance became shaky. Before anyone could move, three of the Derry Girls were there to catch him, making him laugh as they boosted him up with teasing comments. Terry was reluctant to let Elizabeth go but she patted his cheek and turned away with Rose and Mandocina, leaving him to face the walk on his own. Professor Dumbledore twinkled indulgently as he limped over, the Minister looking somewhat shocked at the easy camaraderie the four young people had shown. As he exited stage left, the girls were there again to lift him down and let Elizabeth escort him back to his seat.

After the presentation - a seemingly interminable affair - was over, the audience was invited to enjoy the wonderful afternoon tea the house elves had provided. Again, Terry found himself hip-deep in werewolves, all laughing and clapping him on the back. He and Elizabeth were quickly caught up in the introductions to friends and family; so much so that Terry was rather surprised when his own parents were suddenly at his side.

Mandocina shook hands with Boot senior and told him how well Terry had performed during the battle, very brave and nimble. His mother bristled slightly then turned as another witch called her name. In moments she was involved in an intricate and excited conversation with someone she hadn't seen for years. Terry grinned and raised an eyebrow, Elizabeth returned his smile and both faded softly away.

Arm in arm they strolled down to the lake and found a perfect, sheltered piece of grass. After laying down his cloak, Terry allowed Elizabeth to help him sit then relaxed as she curled up beside him and put her head in his lap. They sat and absorbed the peace of the place for a long time before they spoke and then it was merely murmurs so as not to disturb the quietude.

No one came to disturb them until the sun was slowly sinking and the evening birds were singing a sleepy farewell to the day. Most of the crowd had gone, a few strays hanging around to stretch out the day as long as possible. Both Boot parents had already left, depositing a message on Terry's bed to that effect. Elizabeth smiled ruefully as she offered an arm to help him up the stairs to the front door.

"I'll be finished school in less than a month then I will be going home. As soon as I do, I'll contact you," Terry promised as she took her leave.

"Will your parents allow it?"

Terry bent and kissed her gently. "I am a wizard grown, they can do little to prevent me doing as I like, as long as you like," he added with a touch of uncertainty.

"I like," Elizabeth assured him with a lightening grin before she whirled away and strode off toward the apparition point, a jaunty wave over her head as she went.

Terry smiled at her insouciance before heading up to the Great Hall for dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 03**_

NEWTs had been horrendous, worse than usual really. The external examiners had been hard but fair and had inquired into every aspect of the learning, leaving the seventh-years totally drained. Terry had been particularly busy, as he had taken a total of twenty NEWTs subjects heavily weighted toward languages, human and non-human, living and dead. That was a direct consequence of Hermione Granger-Malfoy making him research and read all sorts of tomes while they had been locked up in the Room of Requirement preparing for the war. When Hermione said 'look it up', she really meant it, with no excuses accepted!

A number of veterans had returned to take their NEWTs, as odd as that sounded. Granger, Malfoy, Weasley, Potter, the Patil twins, Brown, Crabbe, Macmillan and Bones just to name a few. Some like Weasley and Potter came from rehabilitation centres; others, like the Patil twins, came from the home schooling their parents had insisted upon after the battle. A bit like closing the barn after the horse had bolted, Macmillan had commented with a sniff as they went down to dinner the first night, but no one rose to the supercilious Hufflepuff's bait.

Finally, after two weeks of torture, they were having a very abbreviated Leaving Feast; the lower years still not back to full strength and the upper years devastated by the deaths the war had caused. Terry was quite amused to note his glass had a very nice white wine in it instead of the ubiquitous pumpkin juice, Malfoy commenting that the red he had was definitely a '96 vintage, show-off! Terry shook his head and hid a grin as Draco's darling wife clipped his ear for his cheek. It was nice to see the group again, even if they looked strange sitting all at the same table, wearing street clothes instead of uniform and paired up in odd ways. Lysander Malfoy, now a sturdy one year old, kept both his parents on their toes as he reached to grab anything that came into range of his hands.

Brown and Crabbe announced their engagement after the feast, Crabbe glowing with pride and Brown simply glowing. It made Terry smile a little sadly when the couple mentioned their parents' pride in them and their enthusiastic plans for the wedding. Crabbe wasn't exactly the brightest penny in the bunch, and the rumour that he had almost become a Death Eater was definitely a strike against him, but the Browns Senior seemed to be very keen on their daughter marrying him, despite that mark. Why couldn't his parents see past the strike against Elizabeth to the very fine human being she was? Annoyed with himself and his maudlin thoughts, Terry cast them out with a dint of effort and joined in the laughter and gossiping with at least a semblance of enthusiasm.

oo0oo

Tiberius ruffled his feathers, nibbled Terry's fingers and took off, circling the owlery before winging away south. Taking Tiberius in a cage on the Hogwarts Express was an exercise in disaster as Terry had found out the first time he had tried it. Now he simply told the owl to either go to Hogwarts or to go home and trusted he would make his own way safely. Shrinking the cage, Terry slipped it into his pocket with his trunk and made his way slowly down to the front gate where the carriages stood ready to convey them to the Hogsmeade station for the very last time.

The trip was a little daunting as most of the upper school saw the Thestrals clearly and the damage to Hogsmeade was hard to hide despite the flurry of building that had gone on since the end of the war. The station had a new roof now and the platform had been repaired, the rails re-laid on concrete sleepers to replace the wooden ones the Death Eaters had burned. Climbing into a carriage took the help of three classmates who were laughing and cheerful about the effort as they hauled Terry up the stairs. He made a joke of it but he wondered how he was ever going to manage in the real world when such obstacles were commonplace and good friends not available.

The Express pulled into Kings Cross exactly on time, the hoards of parents waiting to collect their offspring once again without the fear of Death Eater attacks hanging over their heads. Terry apparated down onto the platform and landed as carefully as he had trained himself so as not to jar his knee. Once down, he spelled his robes to look like a simple summer raincoat and made his way out to the Muggle half of the station to catch the connecting train to Norfolk and home to Reedham.

The sleek Muggle diesel was fast and efficient, pulling up at the station in what seemed like record time. As he left the train, Terry joined the crowd, mingling until he found a secluded corner and apparated, landing in the front garden of his parents' cottage near the canal. The perfume of lavender and the salt-stagnant odour of canal water were overwhelming, the two opposing smells mingling to create the unforgettable smell of home!

His mother came out to investigate the pop of apparition and shrieked with joy as she flung her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. All but dragging him inside, she plopped him into a chair and poured tea, pulling out biscuits and cakes as she chattered and exclaimed non-stop. Terry gathered that she had been so busy she had nearly missed him and that Tiberius had not come home so she hadn't been sure he was going to arrive. His father was at work and would be home at the usual time and did he like pot roast for tea and was he going to be staying for long. Sipping his tea, he grinned over the rim of the cup as his mother continued her whirlwind of activity, as no real answer was required from him.

His room had not changed, still had Whimburn Wasps posters on the wall and his Spot the Dragon books on the shelf over the bed. The bed quilt had Super Ted printed on it and his Sooty doll was still sitting on his pillow. Terry gazed around, nostalgia almost driving him to his knees as he limped across and sank onto the bed, automatically reaching for the threadbare plush toy that had listened to so many of his secret hopes and dreams over the years. He had done so much, experienced the best and worst of the world and seen too much that the simple childish room was almost overwhelming in its naivety.

He dashed a tear away and sniffed hard before heaving himself to his feet and giving Sooty a parting squeeze before setting him on the shelf with the Dragon books. This perfectly preserved memorial to the innocence of childhood may suit his parents but it was killing him! About to cast a destructive spell, he paused as Tiberius finally flew in through his window and landed on his perch with an imperious hoot.

"Where the Hell have you been?" Terry demanded and Tiberius hooted as if to ask the same question, sticking his leg out and shaking it furiously. Unravelling the note, Terry held it up to the Spotty Lamp on his bedside table.

"_Hey, Clawboy, _

_Your owl arrived without a message and took up residence in the washhouse as if he owned it. The only way he would leave was with a letter to deliver. Hope you are okay? How was the trip home? Not too horrendous, I hope. If you are still of a mind to tie your fate to a werewolf's, tell me and I will take matters to the next step. _

_Love, Black Bess."_

Terry chuckled over the nickname Elizabeth had finally settled on. He had to admit that 'Clawboy' sounded a lot cooler than 'Ravenclaw Bookworm'. Still chuckling, he pondered over Tiberius' odd behaviour then realised he had simply told the owl to go home, not go to his parents' home. Obviously he was already thinking of Elizabeth's place as home. Taking out a quill, he wrote a short reply, sealed it with a kiss and tied it off to Tiberius' leg before lying back on his bed and closing his eyes with a soft, dreamy smile to wonder what 'the next step' would be. Maybe it would be alright after all.

oo0oo

"Now, Gerald, you know how it is, cut backs and restructuring everywhere. I know your boy is bright and intelligent and I would love to take him on as a trainee but really, Gerald, do you think he would be happy to work in our small department after being involved in the huge battles he has been?"

"Well," Gerald Boot temporised, doing his best to hide his disappointment. "He really wanted to be an Auror but of course his war injuries preclude that course now. I thought we could use him in the research department. He is very good at research, as that was a large part of his job in the war."

Coultson paused, eyeing the older man consideringly. "Research, hum? I wonder… Look, don't get your hopes up, Gerry, but there was talk of testing out some candidates for the Archives. They are looking for an assistant to the Chief Archivist, not an easy position to fill but, as your boy is well versed in languages and has rather advanced research skills, he might be a good candidate. Let me send a memo…"

Three hours later Under Minister Coultson came in and placed a folded parchment on his head secretary's desk, the older man raising an eyebrow. "Don't say I never do anything for you, Gerry. It's an application form for the trials for the position of Assistant Archivist. There are only eight candidates who are even vaguely qualified to sit for the selection test that is how exclusive the position will be. The Chief Archivist hasn't taken on an assistant in the last fifty years and I know his current head of the Reading Room has coveted the position for years. Your lad has the NEWTs to prove he knows his stuff but not the practical experience. There again, that would probably not be a disadvantage if I know old Aeolian Calvary, a stranger wizard you would never want to meet."

Unfolding the paper, Gerald stared at the script then scratched his head. "What does it say?" he asked puzzled.

"No idea my dear fellow, part of the selection process, I suppose. No good applying if you can't even read the questions, don't you know?"

The two men laughed incredulously and Gerald slipped the paper away into his pocket. Perhaps all was not lost after all.

oo0oo

Terry sat on the stone bench at the bottom of the garden absorbing the July sunshine and contemplating the view. Things had certainly changed since he was a kid, roaming the canal banks with his friends. The muddy cow track through the weed infested brambles was gone, replaced by a wide swathe of flat concrete, bordered by lush green grass. Of the nettles, cowslips and clover, there were no sign, the willow tree they had made clubhouses under, now trailing it's fronds over a log and concrete bench. Where once only bargemen, fisher-folk and kids ventured, now the joggers and the walkers, cyclists and pram pushers strolled or powered through with barely a glance at the old cottage perched on the slight incline or the young man sprawled under his own willow tree.

Even the water was tamed and confined by brick levies and chain link fences, no more mud and sand beaches where the sticklebacks and tadpoles lurked, ready to draw in eager young hunters armed with split cane fishing nets and jam jars handled with string. He shook his head when a sleek, white-painted yuppy barge slid past, no more clinker built wooden efforts held together by leaded paint and tender loving care, or curses, depending on the owner. No, the face of Reedham was changing to a haven of yuppies and blow-ins from the cities.

He blinked when a voice drew him out of his sun-induced trance and an all too familiar face grinned at him from outside the garden wall. The face was older, the clothes were cooler but the grin hadn't changed, nor had the broken front tooth that allowed for such a piercing whistle.

"Hey T2, whatya doin'?"

"Nuthin' T1, just waiting," Terry answered in the time worn manner, sitting up straighter as his old friend swung himself over the wall and bounded up the lawn to sprawl out beside him on the bench.

T1 or Terry Bignal, had been his friend and partner in crime since the age of four when they met in nursery school and realised that they both had the same name. After punching it out, they decided they would be T1 and T2, Bignal coming before Boot in the class line up. They had chicken pox and measles together, bee stings, nettle stings and bloody knees, inglorious adventures and stunning victories against the rest of the lads in their class at one time or another. When Terry got his Hogwarts letter it had stunned T1 and caused a cessation of relations for at least a week before they both punched each other and then made up again.

Each summer they had renewed their friendship even as the war deepened. T1 was probably the only Muggle completely without magic who knew exactly what was going on in the magical world. He was not as bright as his best friend but he was certainly not stupid and his calm good sense had always been a sea anchor for Terry in growing madness of the SVW.

"When did you get in?"

"About an hour ago," Terry replied with a snort.

"And you didn't come get me? I am offended!" T1 teased, mock punching his friend. "So how did your, er, NEWTs go? My A levels were pretty ghastly, but I squeaked by."

"Ah, NEWTs were okay, I got sixteen, which was pretty good. My dad is trying to get me a job at his place but I really don't fancy going into law."

"I thought you were dead keen to be a magical policeman," T1 asked in surprise.

Terry snorted. "I am, I was, but that sort of lost its shine this year. Chasing mad, bad wizards in your imagination is one thing, actually going up against them and killing them in reality is quite another. I nearly vomited all over my squad mates when I blasted my first Death Eater and it never got any easier. Even bringing down trolls made me queasy at the finish."

T1 shuddered and leaned forward gently shaking his head. "I can still hardly credit it, but I see it in your eyes. A soldier's life is not for you. So, want to go for a walk or hang out at the pub?"

Snorting, Terry grabbed his cane and heaved himself to his feet. "As long as we don't go too fast, the pub sounds good."

His mate grinned back but there was a wealth of sadness in his eyes as he led the way, slowly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 04

_**Chapter 04**_

Terry eyed the parchment his father held out to him with an air of suppressed excitement. It was obviously important to the older man and Terry wondered why as he carefully cracked the Ministry seal. Unrolling it, he glanced at the inked words and looked up at his father. "Archivist? You want me to apply for the position of assistant Archivist? Why?"

Gerald grinned at his son. "Just read it out, would you?"

Shrugging, Terry unrolled a bit more of the parchment and commenced to read out the job description, including the hours he would be expected to work, where he would work and what he would be doing. He came to the section that dealt with the testing process to verify and explore his range of knowledge, shrugging as it catalogued the skills and attributes he would need to make a successful application. "I have to write out a job application, addressing the criteria. If the application is successful then I will be asked to partake in a test of my knowledge. If I pass that test then I will be introduced to the Chief Archivist and given a month's trial in the Archive itself. Applications close next week, and I will need a couple of references too."

"What sort of references will you need?" Gerald asked with suppressed excitement, pride glowing in his eyes.

"Usual character references and stuff… Okay, what? You look like the cat who swallowed the cream," Terry asked, half grinning as his father began to chuckle hugely.

"You just read that parchment straight through without a pause, didn't you?"

Terry shot the old man an old-fashioned look. "So?"

"Terry, my boy, what language is the parchment written in?"

"Gobbledegook and Sanskrit with some passages in runes, both ancient and modern… oh, it was a test, wasn't it?" Terry blushed a little then laughed. "I didn't even notice."

His father buffeted his shoulder in amusement and handed him a fresh roll of parchment. "There you go, lad, start thinking about what you want to say to them. Who will you get references from?"

"Professor Flitwick of course and perhaps I will write and ask Professor Dumbledore for one too, maybe even Professor Sinistra. Some of these questions require a quite long and complicated answer, especially if I don't want to give away war secrets. Humm, this should prove an interesting exercise," Terry mused as he wandered off, not seeing the excited and pleased looks his parents exchanged. He was more like his old self at last than the rather twitchy and watchful young man who had returned at the end of term.

oo0oo

The owl was large and imposing, the parchment it bore had the seal of a prestigious law firm done in deep purple wax. Gerald and Marion eyed the bird uneasily before Gerald tentatively untied the small roll and engorged it. The owl hooted imperiously and took off, its wingspan almost too wide to get through the window comfortably. 

"It's a marriage contract," Gerald informed his wife almost in disbelief.

"It's that woman, isn't it? Who does she think she is? Can't she take no for an answer?" Marion Boot exclaimed angrily.

"She is the determined type who has not been given her walking papers by the most important person named in this contract. Marion, I hate to say it but Terry wants to marry her and we should not stand in his way, especially if these clauses are correct. Look here, she is giving him a mansion in London, in Grosvenor Square no less, that has been converted into six apartments, while she will retain the title to the house and lands called Sanctuary Cottage in the village of Nottingham on Wood. All monies and investments will be split at fifty, fifty regardless of who brought what into the marriage; which, since Terry had almost nothing, means she is willing to give him half of her whole estate. Honey, he could hardly do better and, if his bum knee stops him being employable, she will have to take care of him for the rest of his life. Also, let us not forget that werewolves do not live for very long so he will inherit the lot when she dies. According to this portfolio, that will be a superior amount of change, let me tell you."

"Are you saying we should let this monster buy our little boy?"

"Much more of that slander and your 'little boy' is out of here!" a voice snarled from the hallway and Terry pushed in, an expression of deep fury etched on his brow and his clenched fists. "Elizabeth is more of a woman than anyone else I have ever met, kinder, more generous, tenderer and more caring as well as stronger and more fierce in protection than a mother dragon. She is beautiful, talented and cultured, and I love her. So, quite frankly, if it comes down to a choice between you and her, she wins hands down."

"Terry…" his father chided but the young man was beyond reasoning with. Shaking his head, Gerald Boot sighed deeply while wife and son traded furious volleys it the war of words they seemed determined to conduct. It was times like this that the similarities in mother and son over-rode Terry's superficial likeness to him. "Enough! Both of you! Marion, Terry has a right to decide his own future; and Terry, your mother has a right to worry about you until you are over a hundred, okay? However, neither of you has the right to trade childish insults and personal remarks that will only hurt once you cool down enough to be ashamed of yourselves."

Identical mutinous glares pinned him to the spot until he had to bite his lip to stop the smile making them both explode in fury again. Marion broke first, giving a sniff and an 'I don't care' shrug before Terry nodded once and stepped back a little.

"Well done. Now, shall we sit down and treat this proposal with the serious consideration it deserves?"

oo0oo

Apparating, Terry expected to arrive just outside the wards on Sanctuary Cottage but, much to his surprise, he found himself in the main living area of the house. The ground floor of the cottage had been opened up to make a huge kitchen, living, office area where the main activities of the house took place. One inner wall of the room was a giant corkboard with a multitude of colourful pictures pinned to it in various states of finish. A large draftsman's desk was set up under the window to catch the best of the natural light. The dining table occupied one half of the room while a butcher's block come breakfast bar separated the huge country kitchen from the eating area. It was beautifully clean and tidy and obviously deserted as Terry glanced around appreciatively. He was about to call out when a movement in the small room off to his left made him carefully pull his wand.

The laundry room had a huge copper boiler, an old-fashioned mangle over a heavy, stoneware tub and, completely at odds, a large white front-loader washing machine. The movement came again and he glanced up quickly, a small hiss of amusement breaking out as his owl, Tiberius, and Brunhilde, Elizabeth's huge black owl, blinked back at him sleepily.

"So this is where you are roosting up, is it?" he murmured, about to slip his wand back in its holster. He froze as something cold and damp touched the back of his neck then heavy, warm breath washed over him. Very careful not to make any sudden moves, Terry swivelled at the hips until he could look over his shoulder.

A mass of blonde hair and a set of strong, white teeth seemed to fill his view, a soft growling noise making him very wary as the stranger backed away just a fraction. He did not know the woman but he knew what she was, her short fangs gleaming, her amber eyes showing a feral light as she careful backed out of the washhouse and raised a finger to beckon him to follow. There were two other women - well, a woman and a small girl, who looked terrified and dirty as she huddled on a stool by the table.

No word was said as Terry limped into the kitchen, the two adult werewolves sniffing him nervously as he advanced. Making no sudden moves, he carefully completed the reholstering of his wand, which seemed to calm them down somewhat. The second werewolf, a brunet, slid over to his left and sniffed him carefully, before either of them relaxed even a fraction of their guard. 

"Where's Black Bess?" the blonde asked, her voice low and harsh, anger obviously riding her hard.

"I just arrived, I haven't seen her yet. I thought I would drop in and see how she was. Can I make you ladies a cup of tea?" he asked politely.

The brunet laughed, a harsh bark, but it seemed to break some of the distrust in the atmosphere. "And scones, I suppose?"

"Now that might be a tough one." Terry smiled wryly, careful to keep his teeth sheathed. "Besides, the way I cook, you probably couldn't stomach them, but tea I can manage nicely. Would you like some milk, little one?" he asked as he moved carefully over to the refrigerator and hoped Elizabeth had the wherewithal in there.

"She can't talk yet, still in shock," Blondie muttered, a flare of anger in her eyes once again.

"That's okay, we can manage. So, which pack are you from? Derry Girls, same as Elizabeth?"

"Sandrina's Run," the brunet muttered, relaxing enough to sit warily on the stool by the little girl. "We are in the process of dislodging the last of Fenrir's pack. They fought hard and refused to bow to a new alpha. There were casualties, including civilians." All three adults' eyes cut to the small, shivering child.

"Ah, not a good thing," Terry commiserated, pouring a glass of milk and setting it down in front of the child. Without thinking, he pulled his wand as he turned intent on boiling the kettle. However, the wary wolves only saw the threat and a loud snarl burst from the blonde, the brunet smashing him in the back with a heavy forearm.

Flying forward, Terry's weak leg collapsed under him, tossing him into the refrigerator door as a pop and another snarl made the rafters ring. Heavy bodied and furious, Elizabeth bowled the two aggressors over, sweeping them aside and landing a knee on the brunet's back as she fell. The tangle of three women snarled and swore; random punches and slashing nails tearing hair and skin from unprotected faces and arms. Struggling to master the agony his knee was sending up his leg, Terry managed to haul himself up in time to yell 'accio'. The small child was dragged into his arms as the spitting, snarling bundle of humanity crashed into the stool she had been perched on, smashing it beyond repair.

Staggering badly, Terry managed to concentrate enough to send out a wildly inaccurate 'stupefy', the blonde going limp while Elizabeth held the brunet off the ground by her throat. "You okay?' she asked, turning her head slightly to eye him up and down.

"I'm fine, love, are you?" he asked, noting the bleeding cuts on her face and how they were already closing under the influence of her superb metabolism.

"Yes. Good to see you, Lover. Behave, Octavia, or I'll break your blasted neck," she snarled in the other woman's face.

"He's a wizard, he pulled a wand," the woman snarled, still glaring evilly in Terry's direction. She began to struggle again when she saw the wizard held the little girl against his chest. "Bastard! Don't you hurt her!"

"As if I would," Terry protested almost automatically as he held the girl a fraction more securely. "Er, Elizabeth, she's getting a bit blue in the face, Honey."

Elizabeth grunted and flung the smaller woman away, spinning to wrap her arms around Terry and hold him close enough to sniff his neck, dabbing a small lick just under his ear. "I thought they had hurt you," she murmured in his ear, a mere wisp of sound.

Smiling softly, Terry turned his head and rubbed his cheek against her face, ending in a lick dabbed on the end of her nose. "No, I'm fine, just a little angry with myself; I didn't mean to upset them, I just forgot."

"This is your home, you can do what the hell you like in here," Elizabeth said, ending on a snarl as she glared at the two women. Terry's hand on her back, stroking her spine steadied her as she turned to survey the small child. "So, a recent turning, is she? Poor kid. Where's her family?"

"Fenrir's pack got them, parents and little brother. We were too late to stop them but we managed to destroy the offenders and get rid of anything incriminating. There will be no repercussions on the rest of the werewolf nation. However, we need to find a family for the child. We hoped you could help."

Elizabeth nodded as Terry revived the blonde who came to with a snap that would have removed a hand, had it connected. Joanne, as she was called, soon settled down under Elizabeth's command and between the three they contacted two families until the third one agreed to take an extra child. Terry was surprised when Elizabeth actually haggled over how much the family would receive to take the child, a reasonable sum per year to be paid as a weekly stipend. Once the child was on the way with her two-person escort, Terry asked about that.

"Werewolves are unemployable and so having money is a great thing. Orphanages will not take werewolves under any circumstances so we have had to make our own arrangements. I am on the board of trustees and I control the purse, so to speak. When a new child needs a home, we contact various families and negotiate a fair sum for the child's keep. If the family is poor, they get a little more, if they are getting by, they take a little less. Sometimes it is the difference between eating and starving for some families."

"Where does the money come from?" Terry asked as they finished clearing away the meal they had shared with the other three werewolves.

Elizabeth smiled wryly. "From anyone who has a few knuts to spare. Some human charity mobs donate. Some human families run raffles and do other fund raising activities for 'war-orphans'; some, like me, donate a percentage of their income, about five percent per anum. Every little bit helps and it all adds up."

"You are a good woman, Elizabeth Black," Terry murmured as he enfolded her in his arms.

"And you are good for me, Mr Terrence Boot, Esquire. Are you going to marry me?" she asked softly into his hair.

"Yes, as soon as you like, dear heart," he assured her with complete conviction.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 05

_**Chapter 05**_

"Ah, you must be Terrence Boot, our final candidate," the wizard behind the dark wood desk said unctuously, offering a formal bow. He bowed and introduced himself as Herbert Mountebank, Under Minister for Information Services.

Bowing back, Terry took a second to survey the room, cataloguing the occupants with the swift intelligence he had been taught to use by Professors Lupin and Snape. Five wizards and two witches occupied the comfortable seating, between the ages of thirty and seventy at a guess. No wands were in sight but they were all tense and on edge. Terry estimated that he had the advantage as he could get to his wand quickly but they would have to fight their way out of their comfy chairs, which would slow them down somewhat. He wondered why he was thinking in terms of offence and defence then realised he was wound as tight as a coiled spring too. Taking measures to calm himself, he chose an upright chair, citing his knee as a need to avoid the squashy seats.

"Of course, my dear fellow, choose which ever chair you would like. Now, of the original thirty-six applicants who sat the knowledge test, you eight scored the highest marks and were successful in passing to this final stage of the employment process. You are all familiar with the procedures in accessing the Archive for information and therefore the panel has selected fifty real inquiries garnered from the last two years. They were chosen to be equivalent in complexity and difficulty of information access." Mountebank waved his wand and a bowl of moving paper slips appeared to his left. A smaller bowl appeared to his right. "Each of you will select one slip of parchment from each bowl, one will be the topic you must research, the second will be the order of your testing. Ah, Ah, Miss Fenbeck, no telling what you have to research and no helping each other find the information you must acquire. Once you have fulfilled the task, each candidate will be asked to Pensieve their memory of the task for assessment by the chief Archivist, Mr Aeolian Calvary, who will have the final say in the employment of his assistant."

There were a number of silent and not so silent groans at this announcement, one of the older candidates suddenly looking green about the gills. Terry wondered why this Mr Aeolian Calvary was so unpopular or perhaps down-right Dark by the reactions his very name evoked. Still, he would make no judgements until he had some real information to go on.

Decision made, Terry dipped his hand into the first bowl very warily but discovered there was no trap, just bits of parchment swirling around his fingers. He made a grab for one bit and came up with quite another, pulling it out and transferring it to his lap while he dipped into the second bowl and found another slip of paper. It said number eight, which made him the last candidate to enter the Archive and retrieve his information. He cautiously opened the first slip of parchment and read the sentence twice before he scratched his ear. What in Merlin's name was Tabbia?

"Well, this is exciting," Mountebank carolled as he rose and motioned them all to follow him out to the Reading room where their quests for information would begin. Terry limped carefully, staying at the back of the crowd so that they did not upset his delicate balance. He had jarred his knee quite badly that morning and it throbbed dully despite the number and strength of the pain potions he had consumed. He didn't dare take any more as he needed his wits about him and they tended to dull his senses as well as the pain.

The first candidate came back with the answer within half an hour and presented the adjudicator with the book titles and page numbers where the information could be found. Mountebank accepted the parchment with a gracious air then sent the next candidate in as the first bent over the waiting Pensieve and carefully pulled the strand of memory out. A waiting assistant quickly took the Pensieve away and a fresh one was placed on the pedestal ready to receive the next candidate's memory.

One by one the others disappeared through the far door, a very ordinary door to look at but one that led to the Archive. As each came out with their offerings and discoveries, Terry noticed the adjudicator seemed happier with a copy of the information rather than just book references. He also seemed to expect longer answers, looking rather startled when one fellow had barely half a page to offer for his research. When he tested the memory in the Pensieve he seemed to be happier with those that took longer to extract than those that presented short and thin strands. Small clues but probably very valuable as Terry appeared to be the only wizard in civilian clothes, the other seven candidates wearing Ministry approved business robes and two of the fellows even wearing Archive patches on their outer robes.

Finally his turn came and he rose carefully, moving forward to offer the adjudicator his slip of paper. The man made a note of his topic and waved him forward, even opening the door for him as a courtesy when he had to juggle his slip of parchment and his cane. Terry murmured his thanks as he braced himself for anything in the dark recesses of the Archive itself, as the door shut behind him, killing the light.

It wasn't dark at all, merely dim once his eyes adjusted, the diffused light reflecting off the ancient shelves, and catching highlights from the carvings all along the edges. The light was almost liquid in its blue fluidity, the light of bioluminescence rather than the warm orange hue of combustion. Fascinated, Terry moved closer to the nearest shelf and ran his fingers along the bas relief, wondering at the complexity of the carving on the edge of a mere shelf. As his eye followed his fingers along the edge, he was suddenly taken by the distance and caught his breath in wonder. The bookshelves on either side of him were so long they disappeared into the perspective point. Amazed, he looked up and could not see the ceiling for the immense height of the shelving. To his left and to his right the shelves went on as if forever and even looking down gave no relief. The shelves disappeared down below the slightly translucent edges of the passageway's stone floor, as if there were more floors of shelving below him.

"How on earth am I supposed to find out what Tabbia is with all this bounty of books to choose from?" Terry muttered aloud as he continued to stroke the carvings as he stared about.

Everything began to move, the shelves shooting past him as he plummeted down past more and more shelves, the books flying back and up as he staggered then realised there was no motion. He was not moving, he told himself again and again until the shelves came to an abrupt halt and a book shimmied its way out just a little.

"Wow," he commented as he carefully eased the old book out of its place and stiffened as it flopped open, turning its own pages to the place it wanted to show him. The word 'Tabbia' seemed to detach from the page and float in the air in the strange bluish phosphorescence that limned the carvings. It shivered and shook then seemed to stretch like a small kitten, looping around his head playfully until he grinned. Before he could do anything, the book flipped more pages and the word 'Tappia' shimmied and joined its mate in a wild game of tag around his head.

"Why two words?" he asked puzzled.

The book snapped back into its place and the floor took off again rising up with a belly-dropping swoop until a new book presented itself for reading. "Oh, they are often confused, even though they are nothing alike. That's a good start, I'll have to copy that information down, including the book titles and page numbers, Mountebank seemed to appreciate that sort of thing." Terry wasn't sure why he spoke aloud but it seemed the right thing to do. He was startled when a copy of the information appeared in mid-air on the best quality parchment. "Well, well, how wonderfully convenient. You are definitely a most accommodating Archive, and so smart!" he murmured, stroking the shelf nearest him again. He swore he felt it purr and move.

Nodding to himself, he smiled again. "So, where do we find information on Tabbia first?" he questioned and braced himself for the movement.

The blue smoke words gambolled away ahead of him like small kittens at play until they found yet another book which yielded the necessary information; a second defined the word 'Tappia', the passages copying themselves to his parchment without instruction from him. Shaking his head in amazement, Terry did praise the Archive for its cleverness as if it was a living thing and it responded as if it was indeed a living creature. Even the floor seemed to purr as it sped him back to his starting point, the shelving shedding blue light upon him until his hands glowed with the same luminosity they did.

After the cool, dimness of the Archive, the bright glare of torches made his eyes water as Terry exited by the same door he had entered. Mountebank stepped back hurriedly as the tall young man limped over to the waiting Pensieve, still dripping wisps of Archival light. Someone hissed softly as the memory was deposited and the rather distinctive Archive produced paper handed over. Even without the official verdict, Mountebank knew who was going to be the new Assistant and smiled ingratiatingly as the young man straightened his robe.

There was a buffet laid on in one of the conference rooms, the food far better than Terry had expected of the Ministry. House-elves popped in and out replenishing their drinks and refilling the platters regularly. Mountebank kept pressing food and drink on him and he cast a surreptitious _acclaro_ spell over the dishes, wondering if the man was trying to poison him.

One of the women in Ministerial robes - a Department of Law Enforcement patch on one shoulder - watched him with a small smile as he unobtrusively avoided the Under Minister's fawning attention. It was quite funny, as the young fellow had no idea of why he had been targeted for such intense and cloying attention. "It's because the Archive assisted you in your quest for information," she murmured in his ear as he once again avoided Mountebank's attempt to monopolise his attention.

Terry started. "How do you mean?"

"You came out blue. Everyone else was unaffected but you came out covered in blue fox fire, which meant the Archive had actively assisted you in locating the information. Even more telling, you came out with the sheets of parchment the Archive generates, a rather distinctive form of parchment that no one has been able to reconstruct yet. In other words, the Archive likes you and you are its chosen assistant. The others know it and of course they are as jealous as hell; you are probably going to be their new boss, as young as you are."

"How do you know all this?" Terry asked, using the edge of his glass to cover his lips as he surveyed the other candidates and found them either ignoring him, glaring at him or whispering to each other in huddles in corners.

"Lucretia De Borgia, no relative to the Italian Borgias, by the way," she added with a pained smile. "Lucy, if I get to know you better. I'm an Auror, it's my job to know these things."

"I know a number of Aurors and I know it is not your job to know these things," Terry returned the volley with a faint smile of his own.

She smiled. "I'm not a field operative, I'm a forensic researcher and I use the Archive all the time so I had advanced word of this position even before the Ministry went recruiting. Your predecessor was a victim of er, You-Know-Who…"

"His name was Voldemort and he is now dead, I saw it with my own bleeding eyes," Terry snapped, the edginess that had plagued him making him jumpy.

The woman smiled shark-like as the rest of the candidates squeaked and shivered at the forbidden name. "Well done, proof you have what it takes, indeed. So, Terrence Boot, I am pleased to make your acquaintance and I think we will be doing a lot of business in the future - once you settle in, of course." She shook his hand and wandered off to refill her plate with a casual wave.

All the candidates turned to face the door as it opened and a pair of Ministry employees brought back their memories all carefully labelled and ready for reinsertion into their heads. Terry took his, tested it with his thumb then reintegrated it with a swift, practiced movement of his wand. A couple of the others had to have assistance in the operation, Lucretia watching and smiling knowingly at the young man's expertise. He was indeed an interesting young fellow, a lot more complex than his apparent age and had a lot more substance than his outward pretty boy looks would indicate. He could be a valuable ally to have in the Archive, much more valuable than old Aeolian Calvary, Chief Archivist, and don't forget the title, on pain of a hexing! She watched as he shook hands with the Minister then limped out the door before she took her own leave of the candidates and strolled off to report on the proceedings to her boss who had sent her in, in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 06

_**Chapter 06**_

"Have you seen the new guy in the archives? He's delicious; enough to make a girl's mouth water!"

"He's so nice, too! Mr Calvary was being his usual nasty self but Terry - yes, that's his name, silly – just rushed over and levitated all the files before I dropped them."

"Oh, he's so clever too! Under Minister Seymore wanted some information on the Laborite Conventions and I had no idea what he was talking about but Terry found all the files immediately, _and_ had the Reading Room copy them for me without a hiccough!"

"Halleluiah, a competent Archivist, someone made an error!" Juliana Merton muttered as she hurried back to her desk before the rest of her idiot bosses noticed the receptionist and secretary convention going on in the tearoom.

oo0oo

Terry poured himself a cup of tea and rested his leg on the desk as he drank it. The dark, vaulted stone of the Reading Room and their offices in the Annex, which were attached to the Archives reminded him of the dungeons of Hogwarts but he didn't mind. It smelled of old parchment, ink and dust; a little musty but dry and warm, what more could he ask for? Even better, there was unlimited access to some of the most sensitive documents in the Wizarding world, and unprecedented chance for research and investigation. Terry was in Ravenclaw heaven!

Aeolian Calvary, Chief Archivist, blew noisily on his cup of tea and grinned toothlessly at yet another assistant who had been assigned to him. At least this one was bright and willing to work, doing anything his fertile mind could conjure up cheerfully and willingly. When Calvary had first heard he was to have yet another assistant, he had protested bitterly that the Archives had refused to even let the last three through the door, never mind into the stacks. None of the upstairs idiots realised that the Archives had a mind of its own and if it was not willing to work with someone, then that someone was not allowed into the complex; or even worse disappeared. So, once the Ministry buildings had been partially rebuilt and restored, the Minister for Information Services had come up with the elaborate scheme to 'find the best and most qualified wizard available for the position'.

To eliminate as many wanna-bes as possible, the Archivist had written the selection criteria in as many obscure languages as possible. Then he had made the candidates face the Archive itself, allowing the semi-sentient collection of wizardly knowledge to have the final say in who would be his assistant. After all, the assistant would one day be the Archivist so he had better be the best choice possible.

On first looks, the appointment of Mr Boot to the archives was a disaster: tall, handsome, young, an injured war veteran, everything Aeolian Calvary was not. Oh, Aeolian had done his research, what Archivist would not, and found that young Mr Boot had been awarded an Order of Merlin first class and a Founders Medal of Valour for his efforts during the battle of Hogwarts. He had served with a cadre of werewolves to defeat more trolls and giants than any other human on the field. The Centaurs had even awarded him a Golden Arrow for his services to the herd during his recovery; a very singular honour indeed. Of course all that fame and glory had made Calvary very distrustful when the tall, darkly curly haired young man limped into this office and offered his hand on Monday morning. Being barely four feet six and a half inches tall, Mr Calvary was immediately overwhelmed with the young man's presence but Terry was always careful to give him the respect he felt he was due.

In the course of the first morning, Calvary discovered that Terry was not vain or a glory hound but a rather modest and quiet young fellow who brewed a mean cup of tea and liked to play darts of all things, a Muggle game he was quick to share with Aeolian when he asked about it. Within a couple of minutes the Archive itself began to warm to Terry's presence, sending a curl of foxfire to invite him through the door that connected the Reading Room to the Annex where information was processed and they had their private suite of offices.

"Look, Terry, I like you but the Archive is a singular beast and it has to like you too or it will not allow you to serve it," Calvary explained earnestly on the second day.

"Yes, I had the impression that the Archives were alive at the interview," Terry mused softly.

"Oh, she is, and a fickle beast she is too, at times. I remember when I first came here, she used to lock me into the Annex and not let me out for hours, didn't you old girl?" the little man called over his shoulder fondly and Terry could have sworn he heard something purr in amusement from the depths of the stacks. "If she fully accepts you, she will allow you greater access to her different parts. The front counter and the office are just part of the foyer and any fool can enter. The Reading Room is also a public access area where people can do their research and write their papers and so forth. Most of our work is done here in the office but occasionally we have to go into the stacks and physically hunt up obscure references. That's the real function of the Archivists."

Terry nodded; he had often used the Reading Room as part of his research into werewolves and the law. It was a comfortable, hushed area rather like a good quality men's club with writing desks and deep winged chairs for comfortable reading. He knew that, if material was needed, the researcher would write a request in advance and either send it in by owl or post it through a slot in the far wall. When the material had been found, an owl would deliver a notice or a memo would find the requestor in the Reading Room. He now knew that those requests were taken by the Archivist and read out aloud in the Annex by the Reading Room assistants then the magic of the Archive began to select the right materials to fill those requests. The filing spell to send the used material back to its correct place was versatile and really rather simple but it did require a subtle jolt of magic to make it work properly.

"The hardest part of the job is deciding how to file new material. Take this silly Voldemort thing. When he first started making a noise in the news we simply filed him under dark wizards. Then he began to generate related material so we had to reclassify him into his own section under Dark Lords with cross-references and such. Its getting the cross-referencing right that takes the real brain power. Take Harry Potter, for another instance, he has headings under 'Unforgivable Curses', the 'Boy-Who-Lived', 'Prophesy', 'Chosen One' and 'War Leaders' as well as the Order of the Phoenix and the Quidditch stuff. Very inconvenient but if the Archive likes you then she will do most of the cross-referencing for you and give you ideas of what to use if you are stuck. If the Archive doesn't like you then she will make sure you are wrong every time."

"How do you know if it likes you?"

The old man laughed. "Oh, you will know, believe me."

oo0oo

Terry hated flooing as it set his leg off and quickly found that Lucretia De Borgia was a great contact for getting out of the Ministry with the least fuss. She had caught him humming and harring in front of the floos and asked what was wrong. When he explained, she had shown him to a very secluded area in the Ministry for Law Enforcement corridor and tried to introduce him to her boss. Kingsley Shacklebolt merely nodded companionably, gave Terry a secure password and hiked a thumb over his shoulder, Terry clapping a familiar hand on the broad expanse as he passed into the only part of the new ministry that allowed direct apparition to and from the building. It solved his access problems nicely.

Elizabeth greeted his arrival enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around him and demanding an account of his day as she sniffed him all over to ensure he was in one piece. She hated the smell of the Ministry and was a tad jealous of the almost feline smell the Archive left all over her mate, but her human side managed to win the argument with her wolf and so Terry was allowed to go to work every day with the minimum of fuss.

When Terry first moved in, despite his parents' protests, he hadn't quite known what to expect. His parents always agreed, never kissed or touched unnecessarily and rarely seemed to be more than good friends. Not so Elizabeth. She liked to sit almost on top of him, or hold his hand or touch him at odd times. She rarely kissed him but she did lick and sniff him quite regularly, his cheek, his chin, his neck, and she expected him to do the same - almost demanded it, really - and grew somewhat upset when he hadn't responded so well at first. A quick trip into the Archives had yielded a wealth of information on pack behaviour and suddenly a lot of Elizabeth's physical cues became easier to read.

"She's a wolf, has been for a long time, and now I am her Pack mate as well as her lover and I have to be able to relate to her on both levels, especially if we hope to have a long and happy marriage," Terry explained earnestly to Al, as he had come to call the Chief Archivist over the past few days.

Aeolian, who had never had a nickname or a casual friend before, had accepted the shortening of his name most reluctantly but he did like the boy, who treated him with friendly respect. Now he sat back and stroked his short beard while he studied the young man intently. "You plan to marry a werewolf?" he asked musingly.

Terry frowned slightly at his tone. "I do, and rather sooner than later," he added firmly.

"Hummm. Terry, have you looked at the laws concerning non-humans and provisions for their marriage, care and general disposal? I thought not. In a nutshell, humans cannot marry non-humans, they can only own them."

"What? But, but, why? How?"

Leaning back in his chair, the small man pulled open a cupboard under his desk and pulled out a familiar square bottle, slopping a little of the fire whiskey into two glasses. He rolled his eyes when Terry looked pointedly at the clock, which barely registered two pm. "Right. Listen to what I am going to tell you. Don't comment, don't snarl, don't storm off in a huff, just listen." The small man took a deep breath, steeling himself to deliver harsh facts.

"When a werewolf is created, they are suddenly torn from the human race and become non-humans, animals. They are now ranked with goblins, centaurs, trolls, giants, unicorns, runespoors, phoenixes and any other animal you would like to name. It doesn't matter how intelligent, gentle or civilise they are, they are animals and you cannot marry an animal. You can't marry your pet kneazle, so how could you possibly marry your pet wolf? That is the argument that is often used. Having said that, you can get a license for the wolf, a dog license that allows you to keep a dangerous animal, provided you make proper provision for its upkeep, protect other humans from its savagery and make sure you keep it muzzled in public."

Terry surged to his feet, but the old man slammed him back into his chair with a wordless spell.

"Ah, ah, I'm not finished yet. Technically, you cannot conduct a sexual relationship with a werewolf as it is considered bestiality and that is against the law too. You cannot have children with a werewolf as they would be considered the unnatural offspring of an illegal coupling with an animal. You cannot travel with a werewolf unless it is caged and shipped muzzled, and you have a proper permit. You cannot employ a werewolf with a salary, although you can keep them as guard dogs, provided the above restrictions are followed. If a werewolf turns savage - which translates to even rolling its eyes in a nasty way – then the beast can be confiscated and sent to quarantine on the Isle of Cardoul. If it harms a human in any way then it has to be put down immediately, no reprieve, no extenuating circumstances. These are the facts, lad, this is what the Ministry has been doing to our intelligent animal populations for centuries, slowly reducing them to less than the real animals we share the world with. Actually, you know, Muggles treat their whales with greater consideration than we wizards treat our werewolves."

Terry quietly turned away and vomited on the floor, the information on top of the fire whiskey turning his stomach. Aeolian clicked his tongue and vanished the mess with a flick of his wand, summoning a glass of water for the lad.

"Now do you see what you might be up against?" he asked when the green-faced youth was again sitting in his chair opposite. "Oh yes, the werewolves might have fought the good fight on the side of Light, but I am buggered if I know why. Quite frankly, if it was me, I'd say stuff the wizards and Turn anyone I met rather than look at them."

"Heresy!" Terry managed to joke feebly as he scrubbed his face. "They don't think like that, they are pack animals and tend to think of the whole rather than the parts. Biting someone against their will is not good for the pack, or the individual, so most werewolves avoid it if they can. The few that do take it to the extreme - like Fenrir Greyback - are usually shunned by wolves as well as humans. Doesn't the Ministry realise that werewolves just want to be left alone to make their own way in the world, that persecuting them only makes the whole situation worse?"

"Its all in the attitude, Terry lad, most people never meet a werewolf and have only the propaganda to judge them on. But, were I you, I'd keep quiet about marrying a werewolf until you do a bit of the old research, see if you can find a loophole in the laws. A nod is as good as a wink, as they say."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 07

_**Chapter 07**_

Terry apparated from the Ministry building, out to the local pub in the village of Nottingham on Wood, the connection secured by Kingsley Shacklebolt as a favour. The village was a mixed wizard and Muggle community and a nice place to live, he thought, as he waved to the bartender before wandering out into the car park. No one even blinked at his flowing navy blue Ministry robes as they billowed in the breeze. Elizabeth kept a Muggle style Volvo Golf car which he drove with an abandon that often terrified other motorists. She had customised the paintwork with bright clouds, birds and flowers. However, when Terry started to drive it, she added a vivid orange roof so that other road users could always see him coming. He didn't need to drive but he liked to, flooing being a very painful way of travelling which caused his knee to buckle under him every time he tried to exit the floo system, and apparating into a werewolf's house was not always safe.

The house he shared with his mate was at the end of a picturesque country lane with huge chestnut trees overgrowing the narrow winding road. There was a turn-around at the end of the lane and a five-barrel gate made of moss covered old wood that opened automatically for the Volvo but not for any other vehicle unless the ward on the lane recognised it. A large stone wall enclosed the one hundred acre property, looking as old as time but spelled and warded to be all but impregnable. Nothing went into or out of the property unless Terry or Elizabeth authorised it, not even a bird. The cottage had taken a long time to renovate to look as old as the stone wall, but the extra pains the workmen had taken were well worth it. Terry thought there was no place as warmly welcoming as Sanctuary Cottage.

A lazy curl of smoke spiralled from the chimney as the Volvo pulled into the cobbled forecourt and Terry hopped out, leaning on the door for a second. The hint of herbs and roasting meat meant that Elizabeth had had a good day and dinner would be spectacular as well as interesting. When Elizabeth was working, meals were a bit haphazard but when the work went well, she could cook like a dream. If it went badly then burnt offerings were the theme of the day.

Pots on the gas powered stove gouted shots of scented steam into the air while a joint of beef rotated itself over the living flame in the fireplace. A knife industriously chopped up fruit on a board unattended while a bowl of cream whipped itself by the refrigerator. Terry dipped his finger into the kirsch-laden cream then grinned as a growl sounded from behind him. Turning, he winked as he very deliberately sucked his finger and rolled his eyes in appreciation. The tall, heavy boned woman rolled her eyes and shook her hip-length plait of hair in resignation.

"Hi, did you have a good day?" Terry asked as he leaned in and kissed her sweetly.

"Wonderful," she murmured against his lips, wrapping her arms around him. "Martin Singer called to say Viviane DeLong has accepted all the drawings for her book; all of them, without change!" The woman's low smoky voice rose to a shriek of glee as Terry pulled her close and swung her in a circle until his bad knee gave out. "Careful, Clawboy, nearly overset us both there," she teased lightly, kissing his nose as she held him steady.

Terry snorted then relented, letting her lead him to a chair with one arm wrapped around her waist for balance. "That's fantastic! Ms DeLong must be more intelligent than I gave her credit for." He grinned, remembering the fluttery Muggle woman who spoke in the same soft, sugary style as she wrote her children's books. Terry hadn't liked her as she had reminded him of a cross between Bellatrix Lestrange and that toad woman Dolores Umbridge, but she loved Elizabeth's work and that was the most important thing.

As Elizabeth was excited and happy, Terry packed the unsettling conversation he'd had with the Archivist away in his mind and simply enjoyed her upbeat mood, and the delicious food she had prepared. By the time they turned in Elizabeth was exhausted and curled up, going straight to sleep in seconds. Terry lay there wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling and gently stroking her hair. How on earth was he supposed to tell her that she was classed as a dangerous animal and he was not allowed to marry her for that very reason? In Merlin's Name, she was as human as he, more sensitive and far gentler in a lot of ways. Hell, hadn't this room seen a few encounters that were living proof that his werewolf was a better, more modest person than he.

He smiled into the dark when he remembered his first night here, of Elizabeth coming to bed in what amounted to a flannelette tent that covered every inch of skin except her hands and her face. When he had boggled at the sight, she had blushed and told him to extinguish all the lights as she had so many scars and she didn't want him to be disgusted with her. Terry's temper had exploded as his amazement turned to fury, not at her scars but at the attitude that he might have been put off by something so shallow and stupid.

"Do you think you are the only one with their history recorded on their skin?" he had bellowed. "Damn it, Elizabeth, do you think I haven't got any scars? Do you think any of us have survived this war scar free and perfect? Christ, Elizabeth, you've seen me in nothing but a centaur's nest and you know how many scars I have. Does it worry you?"

"No, of course not," she had replied in shock.

"Then why do you think I would be any different?" he demanded, unsure if he was hurt or angry at this point.

She had sighed and removed the horrible gown, revealing some horrendous scars, true, but Terry had managed to convince her, by the end of the night, that each and every one was precious in his sight and neither of them had been fit for work the next day.

Now he absently played with the tip of the raised scar that literally chopped her in half from left shoulder, down over her breast, and stomach and finished on her right hip. How could anyone class Elizabeth, with her fine sensibilities and artist's temperament as a mere animal to be disposed of, if possible? How could he not fight to change her status and make her legally back into the human being she truly was? But how? Where would he start? Perhaps with the general legal standing of the non-humans at this point in time and then, if he worked back through the history of those laws… Paper and pencils flew to his hand and he carefully sat up to make a list of things he would have to do, steps he would have to research and how they would fit into the general shape of the problem he would have to solve.

Satisfied with his progress, he finally extinguished the last candle at four am and tried to grab a little sleep before he could go to work in the morning. He was eager to get started!

oo0oo

"Al, I'm going into the Archive for a while, do you need me for anything specific?"

The Archivist studied the determined set of his assistant's chin and sighed deeply. "You take care, there's something off in the Non-Human section of the Archives but I have never been able to put my finger on it," he warned softly then dug in his untidy desk drawers before tossing something over.

Terry caught the piece of chalk and frowned before glancing up. "Chalk?"

"You never know when it might come in handy."

Terry snorted and limped off determinedly, slipping through the plain door into the stacks where the semi-sentient archive was stored.

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the low bioluminescent light, Terry smiled, feeling the Archive's feline presence weave a circle around him. Elizabeth had a thing about the Archive but would not admit that she was a tiny bit jealous no matter how Terry teased her. The cat-like presence stalked beside him as he began to wander along, not really concentrating on where he was going. Often, if he had a research problem and he didn't know where to start, such inattention led him to key factors or some hint. In this case he ended up in a section dealing with semi-sentient demons and hauntings, which were about as far away from werewolves as he could get.

Shaking his head, he squared his shoulders and clearly thought about werewolves and non-human law. The shelves and floors slipped past and up as he was born along inexorably to the correct section of the archives. A few minutes later he began to recognise the texts and tomes that made up the law and order section, a well-used part of the Archives that even let assistants access it as the Aurors and Wizengamot were always calling for references from this section.

Shaking his head, Terry glanced around and frowned slightly. The Archives cat had deserted him as it always did in this well trafficked part of the stacks. Even the bioluminescence was dimmer and had to be substituted by magical, non-flame lanterns set at intervals on carved posts driven into the corridor. The shelves never moved here, the place was static and pinned in reality with little magic to assist the seeker in their quest for knowledge. Pausing, Terry frowned as he was suddenly struck by the realisation. This part of the Archives was dead. How had it died? Was it dead because the subject matter was so dry and painfully tedious or was it dead because of the amount of human intrusion in the form of law clerks and Aurors tromping through?

"How odd!" Terry murmured, stepping backward and nearly levitating as he bumped into a warm body that said 'oomph.' "Holy Merlin and Morganna! You scared the life out of me!" he hissed, clutching a shelf for balance.

"And my toes are never going to be the same again!" Lucretia moaned, rubbing the offended digits ostentatiously. "Where were you off to so deep in thought?" she asked curiously as the young Archivist leaned on his cane and pulled a face at her comment.

He snorted. "I was wondering where the magic went," he replied honestly then smiled at her with such open calculation she had to laugh at his wily expression.

"What do you want?" she asked, straightening her robes.

"Want to help me with an experiment?" he asked. "Shouldn't take but a couple of minutes."

Lucy bit her lip then nodded, her errand wasn't that important, not as important as this young war veteran's contributions promised to be. Kingsley had told her about Mr Terrence Boot Esquire and how much he had contributed to the war efforts. If the young man had an idea, it was to be encouraged as he had an almost intuitive grasp of the current situation even if he didn't consciously seem to know what was going on. That didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to Lucy, but her boss thought it was important enough to tell certain members of the Auror force to keep an eye on Terry and look after his interests.

"So, what are we up to?" she asked, falling into step as he began to limp away to the left.

"We're looking for the magic and where it is bound."

"Huh? I mean, this is the Archive; it is magical all on its own, isn't it?" Lucy was truly puzzled by his statement.

"Well, in a sense that is true, but in places the magic is… worn out. It is thin and worn down and no longer supports the information on the shelves; its just books, if you see what I mean."

"Frankly, no, I don't," she muttered, shaking her head as Terry continued to hurry along. After a while, she stopped, blinking hard as the darkness seemed to become darker and the floor almost shaky. "Er, Terry… where are we going?"

The young man stopped and glanced back at the Auror who was holding onto the bookshelf closest to her and groping around as if in the dark. "What's wrong?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Master Boot, it's as dark as a pit in here and I can't see a hand in front of my face," she complained querulously, trying not to sound a little panicked.

Terry glanced around at the foxfire dripping down the shelves and limning everything in light. "Oh," he said flatly. "For you it is dark in here? Really? Cast _lumos_ if you like."

She did and the small ball of light seemed dim and pale to Terry's eyes in comparison with the beauty of the Archival light. Shaking his head, he joined her in the dim circle, studying her carefully. "What?" she asked, taking in his intense, piercing study of her face.

"For me, it is as bright as day in here. So, you can't see the light and you can't feel the magic. Can you feel the Archive's presence?"

She considered. "There is definitely something here in the dark with us, not really friendly but definitely interested in us. Its… disconcerting."

"Interesting. And you don't feel the presence when you are in the law section of the library? Humm, no wonder no one noticed the death of the magic in that area. It would be as if the section had been… exorcised, instead of killed. Right, let's get you back to your preferred environment then," he said in a more business-like tone, brushing past her and returning the way they had come.

oo0oo

"…and there she was covered in foxfire but she couldn't see it, feel it or even sense it apart from a vague feeling of interest." Terry complained as he sat across from his boss in their office.

"Told you, you have to be special to work in the Archives," Al reiterated smugly. "Look, Lad, only you and I - and one or two others - can detect the Archive's presence and even then, she only manifests for you and I at this point. The Law section is dead, no magic left, as you discovered; it has been that way as long as I have been Archivist. There are a couple of other sections that are dead like that, not as highly used of course, but still dead. I don't know what caused it and I don't know how long they have been dead for, they just are and always have been."

Terry looked mutinous then sighed and nodded. "Okay, looks like I have a project all of my own," he mused then grinned. "Don't you love a mystery?"

Aeolian shook his head and chuckled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

**Cloud Spinner: ralfs: red day dawning: Schwertlilie81: Silverbirch:** **Zarathustra46:**

Here's a quick naming of names in alpha order to acknowledge the support of my readers. Terry Boot and an OC is not a popular pairing, but their story just needed to be written. I really didn't expect any reviews at all, to tell the truth, so even one single reviewer is worth their weight in Belgian Chocolate and Galway Pipe. It would be nice to get more reviews, as you mentioned, Silverbirch, but as long as each of you is willing to read on, I am a happy camper. Zarathrusta, who beta-ed this foray into the Potterverse, will recover from the attacks of bad grammar and circular sentences, I have faith. LOL .

Thank you all for your support.

Les

**_Chapter 08_**

It was publishing day; every newspaper and magazine published on the last Thursday night of the month for distribution on a Friday to catch the weekend crowd. This meant the Archive staff received multiple copies of every single magazine published, including the pornographic publications, the learned journals and the lurid tabloids to be included in the Archives. The first copy was catalogued whole and pristine and sent off to the designated section. The second copy was carefully deconstructed and each article was separated. A third copy was also pulled apart so that every item could be filed complete even when it was printed on the obverse of another item. The articles were then catalogued separately and filed under specific headings. Some articles were duplicated and filed under multiple headings. It was all meticulously done by the staff, who never complained.

"I don't see why Miss Winkleset can't do the knitting magazine," Terry mused as the little old witch cast a longing look over the cover then picked up a wizarding porn mag to begin the cataloguing.

"Because," Aeolian said wickedly, "she would never get finished, she would end up reading the articles and starting to knit things in her head rather than do the work she has to. Give old Chester over there the wizard porn and there would be an occupied stall in the loos rather than any work getting done. It's all a matter of balance. Once we've done our work, then the staff gets to take the articles of interest home with them to read, long before the rest of the public get hold of them."

"Oh, and what do we get to do?" Terry asked as Burkett came over and handed Aeolian an article with an apologetic shrug. The Archivist read it through then handed it over for Terry to read. "Whoa, talk about multi-purpose; is it a potion, a sex aid, a spell, or dark magic seduction? Who writes this stuff?"

Flipping the article over to the by-line, Aeolian laughed. "College of Potions Masters, probably something they put in there to get the youngsters interested in the mag. Bloody wankers, should have seen what Snape wrote when he was in college, caused a small riot amongst the masters but they couldn't refute him, still can't actually."

"Well, Severus is an odd bird, you know. He poisoned everyone during the training; students, teachers and even himself, just to prove a point. We had to figure out what the poison was and brew an antidote before it killed the lot of us. He said it was just to make us think a bit, the old bat!" Terry laughed at the memory then laughed louder when he caught his boss' expression of horror.

"Are you sure he was on our side?" the old man asked dubiously.

"Oh yes, never doubt it!" Terry said flatly with total conviction. "Anyway. I need to go into the archive and see if I can figure out these dead spots. I don't know why but something keeps nagging me about them, I think they are important."

The chief Archivist frowned then nodded his agreement. "Take care in there. Have you got some supplies, water and a sandwich, some chalk and a few fortifying potions?"

"I have a field pack," Terry assured him, patting his pocket suggestively. "I also have a first aid kit and a ball of string."

"Well then, take care and come back safe. Some have never returned from the Archives and their bodies have never been found," the small man added ominously.

Terry grinned as he waved goodbye and ducked through the small door into the Archival stacks.

oo0oo

Glancing around at the friendly blue luminescence, Terry grinned when he felt the presence of the Archive just above his head. "So, ready to show me the way to the nearest… no, the _farthest away_ dead spot?" he asked quietly.

There was a ripple in the Archive then a small shudder but the shelves began to move, bearing Terry off to the destination he had requested. Time had no meaning in the archives but it did seem to take longer than usual to come to a stop, even though there were no landmarks to give guidance. Glancing around, Terry frowned as the luminescence seemed to be brighter here if anything, more concentrated as he began to walk forward slowly. He hadn't realised how nervous he was until he nearly shrieked aloud when a huge, sinuous, cat-like creature flowed down the shelves and wound its tail around his waist in greeting. He had never seen the Archival Manifestation so clearly, nor felt an actual living presence from it. The cat looked more like a Sabre-Toothed Kneazle than anything in current history; as tall to the shoulder as he was, broad and solid and glowing a bright blue with more solid blue stripes. It purred softly as it began to pad along beside him, its steps slow to match his limping pace.

The hair on Terry's neck began to rise as a faint chittering sound seemed to touch his inner ear rather than his actual hearing. It sounded like rats and cockroaches crawling over dead leaves in a dank cellar, or so his imagination supplied as his step slowed even more. His toe caught on something and he stumbled, the Archive Cat catching him with its shoulder until he regained his balance and looked down.

"Oh," he said softly, carefully lowering himself beside the desiccated corpse he had stumbled over.

Flowing robes were pooled, dusty but whole, the body below mummified in the dry atmosphere. Long white hair and a short, thick beard covered most of the face, a hand clawed on its chest, the other arm outflung and a wand lying mere inches from the stretching fingers. There were no outward signs of trauma on the body, no obvious cause of violent death, just a dead man lying in the aisle. Rocking back onto his hips, Terry stared down, seeing a piece of parchment poking out of the man's robes. Very carefully extracting it, he motioned the brightly glowing Archive Beast closer, using its natural radiance to try and read by. The ink was too faded and the chittering noise too distracting to make a lot of sense of the Old English words so he slipped the sheets into his own pocket and rose with difficulty, using the shelves and the Archival Beast's shoulder for leverage. As an afterthought and a comfort, he took the safety catch off his wand holder and allowed the smooth length to slip into his hand.

The odd noise was getting louder as they approached a wall of brilliant blue. Terry was not sure what to expect but as he penetrated the wall, he came into a black emptiness, only the shelf under his hand giving him any connection to the rest of the archive. The beast that had paced him all the way was no longer beside him and as he turned his head he could only just see it beyond the edge of the light. Ahead was nothing, literally nothing, no light no sound, a blanket of sensory deprivation pressing all over him until he felt as if he was smothering in the nothing.

It was almost a relief to see a pinpoint of lurid green slowly grow in size before him until it penetrated his mind that this particular shade of green was usually associated with the more virulent of curses. Terry stood there gaping then tried to back pedal as fast as he could but his knee betrayed him and he tumbled backwards as the huge malevolent green thing sprang at him. Reflex reaction caused him to fall properly as he had been taught and equally trained reflexes brought his wand up to protect him.

Casting _sectumsempra_ desperately, Terry slashed at the green creature as it leaped over him, slicing it laterally as it passed. It hit the blue wall and lurched through even as it desperately tried to turn and return. Rolling on his belly, the wizard hit it with a counter curse, slamming it off-balance again and into the blue wall, which sizzled and boiled on contact. A large blue, clawed paw slashed into the green shoulder, hooking in and dragging it further into the blue, which caused it to moan and howl in fury and agony. Green paw/claws scrabbled on the granite flagstones but found no purchase as it was dragged through the blue curtain, hissing and boiling.

Using the shelves, Terry dragged himself to his feet and limped through the guarding wall, drawing back just in time to see the two creatures of light rolling and biting, clawing and snarling. Shelves bowed and twanged like elastic as the two insubstantial bodies bounced and rebounded off them. Bits of green substance were torn off to land hissing and bubbling on the granite. Without thinking, Terry cast _disolvos_ on the nearest lump and obliterated it totally. The green creature howled even louder and the Archival Cat seemed to gain more energy at the action. Quickly, Terry set about destroying as much of the green as he could safely reach, without hurting the blue. Each piece that vanished took a bit more of the horrific green creature's strength until it was weak enough that the Archival cat could smother it, bubbling and shrieking as it dissolved away.

Sliding down the shelves, Terry sat splay legged and gasping while the Archival beast seemed to shrink and diminish into the size of a rather large kneazle and crawl over to lie in his lap. They stayed at rest for quite some time before Terry found the energy to fish his water and ration pack out of his pocked and engorge it to normal size. The survival kit had been invented for the use of the Aurors and contained a number of useful fortifying potions as well as healing potions. Gulping a pain potion and a Pepper-Up potion, Terry sighed as the warmth and energy eased his fatigue. He wasn't sure what the green light monster had done to them, but even the Archival Beast fell asleep at his side.

Without light to give structure to the day, Terry had no idea of how long they napped for before he felt fit to drag himself to his feet. The sleepy purring of the Archival creature was no help but he knew he had to move, to do a bit more investigating before he could make his way out of the labyrinth. The wall of light seemed to have moved down the corridor a bit, slowly filling up the emptiness that had been the green manifestation's domain. The books on the shelves looked very old and brittle, as if the darkness had aged and desiccated them. Very gently easing one out, Terry was amazed to find it was as light and as fragile as a snowflake; dribbles of dust drifting from in between the pages. The title was all but obliterated in the pale blue light and he could do nothing but gently ease it back into place.

The Archival Cat woke and padded to his side, inspecting the second tome he pulled from the shelf, sniffing and sneezing as the dust tickled its nose. Oddly enough, where the blue fox fire touched the page, it seemed to revive the ink and remake the substance, de-aging the paper somewhat. Pursing his lips, Terry thought about how well preserved the library specimens were then nodded, a new insight coming to him. The purpose of the foxfire was to preserve the texts for as long as the library was standing. He remembered Aeolian saying that, if you went far enough and deep enough into the Archive, there were texts and thesis written on skin, not velum but actual tanned hides of animals, some with the fur still on them. Nodding to himself, Terry scooped a handful of foxfire up and gently spread it on the binding, a grin breaking out as the blue radiance was absorbed and the age-browned leather began to take on its original soft tan hue.

The title caught his eye and he paused squinting hard as he read, a soft sound breaking out. Sampling a few more titles, he paused, rocking on his heels in surprise. All these books and scrolls dealt with blood magic and blood rites. Not the dark and horrific sacrificial blood rites but things like 'Blood Bonds in Marriage' and 'The Fiefdom and Feudal Law'. Opening one of the better preserved books, Terry quickly read a passage that gave the rights and responsibilities of a blood bonded Squire to his lord and his fellow Squires. No one had used blood to bind anyone for many ages as it was bad and evil and…

"Well! I wonder…" Terry mused, easing the text back into its place and following the wall of blue foxfire as it advanced slowly to fill up the void left by the removal of the malevolent beast. In two places where the Archive had a dead spot or an actively evil spot, the subject matter it covered corresponded to some evil or forbidden magic in the real world. Was there a correlation and if so, how?

Deep in thought, Terry almost stumbled over the corpse again and slapped himself for his forgetfulness. Glancing around, he realised he couldn't do much more here and should be getting back to the Reading Room. Casting a protective bubble around the desiccated corpse, Terry levitated it and glanced at the blue fire cat that had kept him such silent company in his adventures. "Shall we go? Perhaps we can do this again in a couple of days when we are both recovered?" he said frivolously to his companion.

The beast purred and rubbed a glowing cheek on his hip as the shelves began to flow past.

oo0oo

Chief Archivist Aeolian Calvary stood with his back to the door and his wand drawn, facing down the Aurors and the large boned woman who snarled and snapped at him. No one invaded the archives; not for any reason at all, not even the nearest and dearest of those missing for two days. If he allowed such an invasion then the Archive would rebel and take revenge on anyone else who followed, whether their business was legitimate or not.

Shacklebolt didn't want to hurt the little man but he was getting very annoyed at his stubborn resistance, the werewolf woman almost ready to tear the dwarf apart. She had penetrated the Ministry building almost under false pretences, claiming that she wanted to see the Aurors. As soon as she was permitted into the area, she had almost attacked Shacklebolt, as she demanded he go find Mr Boot. To protect her from the wrath of the Control of Magical Creatures Department operatives, Shacklebolt had given her a 'Special Constable' badge and detailed both himself and Morton Drury to escort her to the archives. She had been rather tightly controlled until the Archivist had refused them entry, which caused her to snarl in a most menacing manner.

The Archivist had ignored her snarls and threats and was prepared to defend the archives to the death when the door behind him opened and Mr Boot stood blinking in the light, his own wand coming up automatically. Aeolian half turned and sniffed in disgust a small shake of his head making the younger man quirk a smile.

"Took you long enough," Aeolian commented as he moved aside and allowed Terry to limp out into the foyer fully.

"Sorry, had a lot to do, found a fellow Archivist too," he commented as he eased the desiccated corpse out and into the light. As soon as he lowered his burden to the floor there was a flurry of robes; the Aurors hurrying to examine the body, Elizabeth to fling herself into his arms and sniff him all over, patting and petting his hair and making disgruntled, upset little whining noises. "Hey, what's this?" he asked, tipping her chin up and searching her face for the answers.

"You were gone for days!" Elizabeth exclaimed half angry half upset. "We thought you were lost forever and _he_ wouldn't let me go in and search for you."

Terry grinned, glancing at his boss. "Now, Honey, you know it's next to impossible to go into the Archives and find people, one of the hazards of the job they don't tell you about. I am fine. I am a trained Auror, remember, and a combat veteran. I did fine, I assure you. Time runs differently in the Archive, that's all. Now I need to eat before I answer any more questions, and possibly have a nap."

Shacklebolt caught the last part of his speech and nodded carefully. "You do that, then I have a couple of questions for you. Er, by the way, you had better take Ms Black home soon as she has had a very hard day herself," he commented.

Terry cocked an eyebrow at his mate and blinked when she blushed bright scarlet. "Humm, looks like there might be a tale to tell here," Terry commented with a grin as he hugged her close. Elizabeth blushed harder.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 09

_**Chapter 09**_

As soon as they apparated home, Elizabeth fixed a huge meal for Terry who devoured it in seconds. He was too hungry to note that Elizabeth barely sipped a glass of water, or to notice the large, brown bottle perched on the end of the table. When he finally did realise, he slapped his forehead and pushed his plate away in disgust.

"I am so sorry, Honey, is it that time already? Damn, come here," he called softly and wrapped both arms around the woman who was shaking slightly in anticipation of the coming ordeal. "Hey now, let's get set. What time do you have to take it? Seven thirty? Okay, that gives us an hour. How about you have a bath and I rub your back to relax you a bit."

She nodded and sighed, the tension easing under the stream of his fond and gentle chatter. The ordeal of the Wolfsbane was not so bad when Terry held her and soothed her. As seven thirty rolled around, she lay on the sofa with her head in Terry's lap, his strong fingers digging into the heavy rolls of muscle around her neck and shoulders. Exactly on time she swallowed the vile tasting potion, passing the empty bottle over to her mate who put it aside and summoned a soft wool blanket from the blanket box. They sat in silence, the radio playing softly in the background, Terry continuing to massage the tension away as the first of the tremors began.

The tiny tremors were almost imperceptible at first but they quickly built until they almost shook Elizabeth's heavy, sturdy body off the sofa. Terry hung on as best he could, knowing that the tremors would soon give way to the sweats which left his mate soaked and wrung out but even the sweats were better than the severe cramping that was about to ensue. The tortuous progress of the potion through Elizabeth's system had horrified him the first time she allowed him to witness it. Other werewolves took the potion and just had to refuse food for half an hour, but not if a person was allergic to Demiguise hair. That unfortunate allergy made Elizabeth's taking of the potion an ordeal that had caused Terry to try and make her refuse it. She had simply laughed at him and told him, in no uncertain terms, that the problems the potion caused were miniscule compared to the actual changes being a werewolf caused.

The horrific reaction lasted for a good hour and by the end of it, Terry was almost as exhausted as Elizabeth. They managed to drag themselves from the sofa and helped each other up the stairs to their bedroom where they collapsed into bed. Terry cast a quick cleaning charm over them both before they curled up together and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

oo0oo

"You need to ask your Alpha Female to go with you."

The statement was startling and brought Terry up short. "My… what?"

"Your Alpha Female, you know, Lady Malfoy. She is more intelligent than you, much as you may dislike hearing that. She has insights that most people miss. You should take her with you into the Archives and see what she thinks of these blank spots," Elizabeth said calmly, brushing her long black hair and watching his reactions in the mirror.

Terry opened his mouth then paused, considering. "Maybe. Hermione is better at putting two and two together than most people, and yes, I concede, better than me too," he added, stalking up behind his mate and licking her cheek, making her giggle.

"You can call her from here if you like, I had the floo opened the other day when you didn't come home," Elizabeth told him, spinning around and catching him off-balance to pull him into her lap and nuzzle his neck lovingly. Moon had passed without incident, both of them spending the time in play and affectionate games, which had only brought them closer and cemented their relationship for all time. "I like that aftershave, it's really good."

Terry chuckled. "No aftershave, just soap and water," he remarked, nuzzling back. "I don't know if she would be allowed into the Archive but it is too good an opportunity to pass up. I hope Draco will let her come, he might not like the idea of putting her in jeopardy for something as hazy as my suspicions."

"Her mate will do as he is told, most do," Elizabeth stated comfortably, making Terry snort with laughter.

oo0oo

"If anything happens to her, Boot, you are a dead man, a slow and painfully dead man, do you understand?" Lord Draco Malfoy said, pointing his wand at the Ravenclaw with deadly intent.

Hermione shook her head and pointedly pushed his wand off to the side. "That's enough now, children. Nothing will happen and we'll be fine. So, is this the entrance, Terry? Do we have enough food and water for a couple of days? What about healing potions and nutritional supplement potions? Good, then we are all set. Let's go. Oh, and Draco, do make sure Lysander has his nap this afternoon, he is a terror if you don't."

"Yes, dear," Draco drawled, pulling a disgusted face while Elizabeth folded her arms defensively and nodded to her mate.

Terry smiled back and blew her a kiss as he opened the door and slipped inside, chivalry out the window in the face of the territory they were entering. Blue Archival light immediately surrounded him, crawling over his arms and hands and over the shelves like a friendly blanket. Hermione, on the other hand, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise swiftly, her wand readying to counteract the threat she could not see in the pitch darkness that blanketed them.

"Can we have some light?" she asked softly, the 's' seeming to echo in the cavernous space she sensed around her.

"Light? But it's as bright as… oh, maybe not. Lucretia had the same problem when she came in with me, too. Can't you see the blue foxfire everywhere?" Terry asked curiously as soon as he turned and saw her wide, staring eyes.

"No, it's really, really dark and somewhat hostile to me, an odd feeling. I am about to cast '_lumos_'… Humm, rather pathetic, isn't it? But at least I can now see. Whoa! Books! Millions and billions of them!" she exclaimed, awe and delight colouring her tone, enough to make Terry grin despite the pale and pasty light he saw at the tip of her wand.

"Welcome to the Archive, the best working environment in the world, especially for an ex-Ravenclaw," he bowed slightly and took her arm companionably. "This section is mostly the monthlies, trade journals and faculty publications; the Daily Prophet is stored off to the left and the Quibbler just after that. The Witches Weekly is to the right and Go Potions is beyond that again. The Herbologist's Digest is above us, relatively, and the Collector's Guide to Collections is below. You don't want to know what comes further along, believe me." He smirked and Hermione cocked an eyebrow before catching his drift.

"Brat! So, where is this 'hole' you are talking about? How long will it take to get there?"

Terry frowned then offered his hand. "Usually a few minutes but I don't know if the Archive will transport you as it does me. Hold on tight and we'll see." He grasped her hand and touched the shelf as if he was alone. Hermione let out a squeak and grabbed a handful of his robes as they were swept along, even though Terry realised it was the shelves moving and not them. "Well, that answers that question," he remarked as Hermione seemed to settle a bit and grow a bit more confident with their mode of travel.

As they approached the hole, Terry slowed them down and allowed Hermione to collect herself. She peered ahead, the wand light slowly becoming brighter as they approached the empty space in the archive. Terry watched in interest as the _lumos_ spell began to compete with the blue luminescence he was able to see so easily.

"… As if there were a more common type of magic present here, rather than the type of Magic the Archive uses to preserve the books…" Hermione mused as they slowed and stopped, Terry pressing a hand into the luminous wall and testing its density. "Tell you what, you just do whatever it is you do and I will try a few things to see what I can find out, okay?"

"Sounds fine to me," Terry agreed with a quick smile.

Terry chose to ignore the busy Gryffindor as he encouraged the blue fox fire to coat the fragile manuscripts and slowly restore the more badly damaged ones to a readable condition. He knew it would take a long time for this part of the Archives to be fully restored but a little encouragement didn't hurt matters. He invaded the empty space and dropped handfuls of the blue luminescence at strategic points on the premise that it would act like seeds to encourage the rest of the blue to invade and recolonise the space.

Hermione watched the tall Ravenclaw work around the books and manuscripts, smoothing them with his hands and gathering some unseen something up to plaster it over the damaged spines. Watching them revitalise was like watching a time-lapse film run backwards, fascinating and sort of spooky, she thought, then laughed at her silly notion. She wondered what sort of magic the Ravenclaw was channelling and rummaged around in her encyclopaedic memory to find a spell that might reveal what he was working with. The hair on the back of her neck was continuously prickling, almost the same way as it did when Harry was throwing a fit and dragging the magic out of their surroundings or… She paused and bit her lip, analysing the last thought before casting to detect any Elemental activity. There was a faint trace of Elemental power but not enough to indicate the presence of one of the major sprites but the spell limned Terry, highlighting a very faint current swirling around his hands. Fascinated, Hermione refined the spell and concentrated on the limping figure, which was now grasping handfuls of nothingness and smearing them onto the shelves.

"Terry, what are you doing now, exactly?" she asked, squinting through the spell haze she had created.

Starting slightly, Terry turned to grin at his schoolmate having almost forgotten her presence in his concentration. "Sorry… humm, I guess I am distributing the bioluminescence around to make sure all the manuscripts have their share and the badly damaged ones have more than their fair share. I am also dragging the living light into the dead space to encourage the rest of the illumination to spread and take up the space."

"What if I told you, you weren't? What if I told you, you were spinning raw magic out of what seems like nothing? What…"

"What? Nah, come on, that isn't possible!" Terry exclaimed, turning to face her properly. "I'm not that strong, Hermione, you know that, just an average wizard, nothing powerful, not like the big guns."

Hermione made an impatient noise. "I have seen Harry tear the raw magic from the very stones and the earth, streamers of it in blue and purple and green but even he cannot do what you are doing now. I think… I think you are creating raw magic, Terry, actually making the raw materials, not taking them from something else. Its, it's a rather scary thought." She paused and took a deep breath. "Look, no one knows where the magic comes from, only that everything has magic. We use the tame magic, channel it and shape it to our wills, using our wands as a focus. That's how wizards and witches work, but you aren't doing that, you are actually 'emitting' raw magic, of a very specialised spectrum. The magic in the Archives is somewhat hostile to humans which is why most people are uncomfortable with it but you are using magic I have never seen before, not tame, not wild, not Elemental but something else again, raw Archival magic maybe. Its obviously a rare gift as there aren't that many Archivists but, Terry, I do assure you, it is not something you should spread around."

They paused, staring at each other, the ramifications of the young woman's speculation echoing ominously in the stillness. If Terry could create magic from nothing then what if that gift were harnessed for a less useful purpose than to preserve their heritage? What if someone discovered a way to use that gift to strengthen their own magic…

"My God, that's why…"

They both stumbled to a halt, remembering the odd incidents during the war when Terry's research group had managed to work for a straight ninety hours without ending up completely shattered, although Terry had been in the worst shape of them all at the end of the marathon session.

"This is dangerous knowledge, Terry Boot, very dangerous knowledge indeed. For the sake of all you hold dear, do not let the Ministry discover your talent," Hermione warned in soft, horrified tones.

Terry covered his mouth in equal horror, their combined intelligence running scenarios faster than the usual methodical plodding most others managed. "Al must have the same talent for spinning magic as he sees the blue too. I wonder if all Archivists have had the same gift. It would explain a lot, if they had."

"Regardless, you need to put it out of your mind, forget how it works or what it does, only that it is Archival magic, only useful in the Archives and _never _outside of the stacks." Hermione reiterated firmly, giving his arm a small shake.

Huffing deeply, Terry nodded agreement, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Trust me to have a fantastic new gift that no one can know about. Still, it is kinda cool, don't you think." He grinned then laughed as Hermione wrinkled her nose at his silliness.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she agreed then shivered. "I don't know about you, but I am freezing and hungry. How about we break out the rations before we go tossing the Magical world on its ear anymore?"

"Sounds like a plan," Terry replied with a nod.

oo0oo

The hole was small, merely a few feet across and Terry managed to kill the green light without the help of the Archival beast, which was conspicuously absent. Hermione used her wand to study the books that had been desiccated in the affected area and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "These are texts dealing with goblin etiquette and interactions, how interesting. Terry, don't you find it strange that, wherever these holes eat up some of the Archival magic, then in the outside world, those areas become open to speculation, exploitation and suppression?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Terry scooped up some luminescence and slapped it over the powdery spines of the texts. "Maybe the Archive stabilises that knowledge and keeps it from being exploited outside, maybe, if it loses its steady base we, as magic users can warp it and change it to our own ends. You know what they say? Once something is written down it becomes set in stone and unchangeable. What if that saying was based in fact; that, once something is put into the archives, it becomes stable and unchangeable, that trying to warp it to another end becomes impossible unless it is changed at the source, here in the archive?"

Hermione shook her head and frowned. "Again, that sort of speculation better not fall into the hands of the Minister or we are all dead. Whoever is in power could make themselves invincible simply by rewriting the laws and filing them in the archive before they can be tested in the Wizengamot for legality."

"Isn't that what they are doing with the laws against magical creatures?" Terry snapped angrily. "The magic is dead in the law section, killed somehow, and I wonder if it was not done deliberately now. No laws passed in the last hundred years have been put through the Archive because the law section has been opened up and the lawyers allowed to run riot in there, pulling the Archival texts off the shelves and treating them like… like… like _library books_!"

Hermione couldn't help herself, she giggled. It was the first time she had ever heard the words 'library books' used as a curse. Still, she understood his sentiment and nodded even as she laughed. "It would explain a lot, wouldn't it? So, how do we change the world?"

"Through the Archives, of course," Terry said flatly as they gathered their things and prepared to leave.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

"Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot, we all know what a marvellous asset the Archive is, the greatest repository of Wizarding knowledge in - dare I say it - in the world; the sum of all our ancestors' musings, writings and discoveries. It has always been the backbone of our society and the thread that ties our world together, but…" The stately man paused, taking a sip from his glass to spin out the tension he was creating. "But I put it to you that the area in which the sum total of our knowledge is being held is inadequate for the needs of the modern world. Civil law clerks fall over criminal lawyers and patents clerks vie for space with inheritance clerks…"

"Perhaps a few less lawyers would be the best answer," a voice from the gallery interjected dryly, a titter of laughter rippling through the audience.

"Perhaps so," the Right Honourable Algernon Wagstaff, Chief Justice for the Wizarding Courts of Great Britain and Ireland agreed, never missing a beat of his speech. "But as long as people invent and disagree, have children and commit crimes, we will have lawyers and courts, laws and law clerks. The Working Committee on the Problems of Overcrowding has come up with a plan to transfer the contents of the Law Archives to the new Ministerial Annex in Golder's Green. The new building is centrally placed to the law district, has first class security charms and wards, a large area of storage and stacks and has state of the art atmospheric conditioning to keep the parchment at an optimum for the preservation of its condition. No more dark and gloomy lanterns strung on sticks over antiquated shelving, I do promise." The man winked, encouraging the crowd to laugh knowingly with him as he bowed in the direction of the Official's Gallery.

Chief Archivist Aeolian Calvary watched the man below with a cynical smile, shaking his head slightly as the very clever orator played to the crowd. He scratched his nose and bowed back slightly as the man shot him a knowing smirk before beginning his summing up. Listening to the rhetoric, Calvary sighed deeply when he was called upon to refute or uphold the Chief Justice's speech. Even getting down the steps from the Gallery to the floor of the Wizengamot made him look like a buffoon, the steps so high he had to jump each one, rather than glide down with dignity. Stumping to the middle of the floor, the Archivist glared around and shook his head in disgust.

"Fine words, damned fine speech," he congratulated, Wagstaff taking it as his due. "Never heard it said better… the ten times it has been proposed and denied in front of this august body and its predecessor." There was a surprised rumble through the crowd. "Oh yes, I have heard various interested parties ask that parts of the Archives be extracted and rehoused over the last century. I have listened - man and boy - to the same old chestnuts trotted out and pontificated upon as if they were a new and fantastically practical idea. In the end it always comes down to the same bedrock truth, the Archives are immovable. So, I say to you all, dear Councillors, learned Chief Justice and members of the public. Do what you bloody well like and good luck to you. I really enjoy the vaudeville show that usually ensues in these endeavours."

There was a stunned silence as the small man spun on the spot and stalked away, his head held high. The closing of the door left the members of the Wizengamot with their mouths hanging open, gaping like landed fish until the Supreme Mugwump slammed his rock down. "All those in favour of moving the law section of the Archives to the new premises raise your hands now. All those against? The ayes carry the day. The Law section of the Archives will be rehoused by the Order of the Wizengamot the vote being carried twenty nine to eight. So it is spoken, so it is mote."

The Chief Justice and the Supreme Mugwump exchanged knowing smiles while the Minister for Magic merely shook his head.

oo0oo

The Annex was in chaos! Clerks from the major law firms, members of the Archive team and overseers from the Wizengamot milled and called conflicting orders as the huge tomes and small scrolls that made up the four floors of the Law Library were carefully transported down to the ground floor. Aurors lined the walls while a fussy little man in a Wizengamot Counsellor's hat and robes carefully catalogued and recorded every single document that was brought down from the far reaches of the space. It was his job to oversee the packing and transportation of the crates of material, once it was all gathered and ready for transport.

Al sat at his desk in the Annex, his feet up and a cup of tea steaming at this right hand. Terry sat on the sofa opposite fidgeting and fiddling as parts of his Archives were torn out by the roots. He could almost feel the agony of the Archives as parts of its substance were excised most painfully.

"They're killing it," he blurted out as yet another floor was emptied of its last scroll, all the material now stacked on the ground floor.

"No, Lad, they aren't killing her, but they are making her very angry, I know that much. As yet they haven't even tried to remove anything, only moved it around a lot. You see that line of greyish flagstones out there? That's the edge of the Archive, that's where they took down the wall that separates the Archive from the Annex. If a book or a scroll crosses that line then real trouble will start and we had better be ready for it, I can promise you that much."

"What do you think will happen?" Terry asked, rising to peer out of the window toward the far space where the hive of activity was gearing up to a new high.

"No idea but I think they have all the material stacked in the reading area now. Tell me, Lad, do you have your field rations and your first-aid kit in your pockets? Good lad, keep your wand near your fingertips and get ready to do some very fast _accio_-ing. If it goes anything like the last time some idiot tried this, there will be bodies flying all over the place."

"Bodies?"

A scream rang out and Al bounced to his feet, his wand in his hand. A wave of darkness was sweeping the far area, the floor jumping like a fly-teased hide. Rumbling sounded deep in the ground and flagstones began to buckle and bend as the shockwaves travelled through the earth. Terry caught his weight on the doorpost as his boss pushed past and began yelling orders, his _sonorus_ making his voice carry over the din of panicked clerks. Splintering and tearing noises were heard from higher up in the area and bits of stairs and handrails began to rain down on the defenceless heads below. Clouds of roiling blackness began to materialise along the line of grey flagstones, growing into more solid granite building blocks by the second, trapping people trying to scramble away from the rain of splinters. A woman was caught half in, half out of the darkness, her screams dying, as the darkness became solid stone and crushed her to death.

"Holy shit!" Terry exclaimed hop-limping forward at his best speed and darting into the Annex to start pushing people out of the rapidly narrowing gap. "Get out! Get out, now! Come on, you idiots! Run!" He bellowed, fending off half a staircase with a carelessly cast shielding charm.

There was a final, smashing crash and darkness reigned, all light extinguished, the distant thumping of the last few splinters still rattling in the echoing stillness. Someone groaned nearby, a whimper of sound that was startlingly loud in the ensuing silence.

"Well! That was interesting," Terry remarked and someone giggled hysterically from his left. "Anyone who can, had better cast_ lumos_, I think, so we can see what we have to work with. Okay, my _lumos_ is yellow, if you can see my yellow light, make your way toward me and if you find anyone injured, call out."

"Is that you, Terry?" someone called and a familiar face slowly made her way out of the gloom, blood trickling down the left side of her face.

"Lucretia, fancy meeting you here," Terry quipped, guiding her to a seat on a stack of tomes and handing her a handkerchief.

"Archivist? What happened? England doesn't have earthquakes," someone else said shakily as an older man emerged from the gloom.

"No, but outraged Archives tend to shake away those creatures that are hurting it. What did you idiots expect? You can't cut chunks out of a living entity and expect to get away with it!" Terry snapped then reined in his temper.

There were six mobile people trapped in the Archive, and three badly hurt people who were going to need special treatment before they could be moved. Lucretia used the first-aid kit Terry offered her to the best of its resources, thankful that he even had such a thing on him. Of the mobile people, most were suffering cuts and bruises and one man had a broken arm which Terry splinted carefully.

"Well, that's as good as I can make it," Lucretia remarked as she straightened from tending a man with a crushed spine. "If he gets help quickly they may be able to heal him, if not then I am afraid he will never walk again. Any idea on how to get out of here, Terry?"

"Look, this is the dead zone in the Archives so we need to get to the living areas. Once there, the Archives will let me take you out and even help us, I hope, if she's not too angry with us. So, let me see if I can orientate myself. Over that way should be the main stacks, we came from over there the last time we went exploring, if you remember, Lucy."

"Mate, the way my head is spinning, I am having trouble remembering my own name," the Auror confessed softly.

"Concussion?"

"Yeah, big time. I think I caught half a staircase or something."

"Damn. Alright, people, listen carefully…"

oo0oo

Aeolian Calvary, Chief Archivist smiled at the three men in front of him, taking time to call an order to a couple of his archive staff who were busy helping clean out the debris in the foyer. When the Archive sealed itself, the strewn bodies and debris had been everywhere. Those who had managed to throw themselves out of the gap in the wall were just thankful to be in the light, although a number had injured themselves in their panic. Archive staff and Aurors had hurried to help the wounded, sorting the living from the dead, and dead there were, a broken neck, a splinter straight through the heart, even a smashed in skull from a piece of hardwood slamming down.

The Chief Justice, the Supreme Mugwump and the Minister for Magic had come dashing into the chaos, trailing their bodyguards and causing even more panic with their presence. Aeolian had simply ignored them and continued with his efforts and would continue to ignore them until he was good and ready to take some notice of their spluttered questions. He was somewhat worried about Terry, his insane assistant having thrown himself into the breach like some crazed hero out of legend, or the war, which was probably fairer. He hoped the boy was alright but there wouldn't be time to go and find him until this mess was sorted out and the blame laid squarely where it belonged.

"Calvary! I demand to know what you did?" the Chief Justice finally screamed, grabbing the smaller man and lifting him off his feet.

Aeolian flicked his wand and sent the heavy man bouncing off the far wall as he landed cat-like on his toes. "I did nothing, you fool; you brought this on yourselves with your stupid bid for power. You cannot move the Archive, I told you that but noooo, what does the stupid dwarf know? Just being an obstructionist old fool, just wanting to keep his empire intact. _It's not my empire_, I am merely its servant and that is not self-serving rhetoric, it is fact! When my predecessor began to sabotage this section on the orders of Grindelwald, I was just an apprentice and I knew even then that it would all end in tears. It took a bit longer than I thought but there you go. So, instead of trying to squirm away and push blame onto someone else, let's get this lot cleared up and see how many were trapped. I tell you now, they may be lost forever but luckily, young Terry tossed himself in there so he may be able to preserve them from the Archive's wrath. She likes the lad."

"You speak as if it was alive," the minister murmured thoughtfully.

"She is!"

oo0oo

After stumbling around in the debris-strewn darkness, the glimmer of blue ahead was like a beacon in the night for Terry. In seconds he had shepherded his small party into the Archival light and was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, no one else could see the light and were somewhat upset by his suddenly light-hearted manner.

"Look, give me the wounded and I will see if I can transport them to the exit quickly now," he temporised, ignoring the grumbling of the oldest law clerk.

"Can you manage three?" Lucretia asked as she held the shelf to stop her swaying.

"I'll find out in a minute. Just follow the shelves and they will eventually lead you out, even if I'm not back straight away," he recommended, casting his own _mobilicorpus_ over the three unconscious wounded.

It was like trying to drag a ton weight through molasses and he almost collapsed at the knee when the exit finally came into sight. Thrusting the door open with the last of his strength, Terry peered out and yelled to three of his stunned colleagues to get their rear ends over to him immediately. "Get these three over to St Mungo's as fast as you can and bring as many nutrient potions and Pepper-Up potions as you can round up. I have six more people to bring out but these are the worst hurt. See if you can find Al for me, too. I'll need him to show me how to get this mess sorted in the quickest way."

"Ye-es Sir," John Manitus, head of the Reading Room, stammered, a younger colleague running to do Terry's biding while one of the clerks summoned a glass of water for the young Archivist.

Someone else tossed over a bar of Honeydukes with a shrug and a muttered, 'not as good as nutrient potion but not too bad either'. Terry noted the young man's rank and nodded appreciation before he gave them a wry salute and disappeared back into the Archives once again. As soon as he said '_back to the others_' the Archival Beast appeared, flowing down the shelves to rub against him in a very feline way. Terry laughed and scrubbed its light striped ears, pleased it had returned. "I'm going to need you later, once I get the survivors out of here," he told it as the shelves whizzed past. "Have you seen the mess?"

It yowled – or spluttered sparks, depending on the viewer's perception – its back arching and a hiss breaking out as they approached the party of six groping in the darkness. It was odd to see when the archival light made the place so glowing bright to Terry's eyes. Lucretia had her wand out defensively as he stepped into the circle of their _Lumos_, making a few gasps break through the fearful tension. The Archival Cat almost sniggered at their fears.

"Okay, let's see if I can move all six of you at once," he murmured, lining them up and making them grasp the shelf as well as his robe.

"This is ridiculous, no one can apparate six people at once," the clerk of the Court complained, his muttering and complaining having strained the group to its limits.

"Very well, if you are volunteering to wait behind for the last group…" Terry began only to be cut off by the old man's quick grab of a handful of Terry's loose robe. "I thought not."

Lucretia chuckled and clumsily patted the younger man's back. "Do your stuff, Kid," she announced grandly, all hint of restraint dissolved in the reckless abandon of her head injury which still bled sluggishly down her face onto her shoulder.

The travel was nowhere near as fast as usual, the shelves moving past at a good pace but not fast enough to cause vertigo. Two of the young women who were only slightly injured managed one quick scream as they took off, as did the older man in the Law clerk's robes but finally, after perhaps half an hour of exhaustive travel, they approached the exit once again.

Terry peered ahead and let out a sigh of thanks as the small but blue limned figure of his boss stood close enough to the exit to be seen in both types of light. Aeolian grabbed the younger man and slung his arm over his shoulders as the walking wounded and those somewhat unscathed helped each other out of the Archives and into the light of day.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

"Merlin's shiny brass balls, what a mess!"

Terry sniggered at the imagery, standing behind his boss as they surveyed the hodgepodge piles of books and scrolls interspersed with broken wood and mangled lanterns. "At least the light is coming back into the section," he remarked, flicking a large splinter off the cataloguing table the Wizengamot clerk had used and pulling the chair out. It was remarkably intact and Aeolian commandeered it with a sly grin. "So, what now?"

"Now we put it all back again," the Archivist sniffed and sighed. "The spell is as simple as possible, a single command of 'shelf' with the wand movement of _wingardium leviosa_ and the book you aim at will take itself back to the correct place on the shelf. Try it."

Nothing loath, Terry tried the spell and grinned as half a dozen books took wing, upheld by the blue radiance that surrounded all things Archival. Nodding to each other, the two men set to work to demolish the piles of tomes and scrolls, sending a steady stream back to the shelves. The work progressed steadily until one particular tome suddenly began to hiss and spit at Terry like an angry cat or as if bacon was frying inside its covers. Taking a step back, his wand at the ready, Terry glanced over to where his boss was smirking at his surprise.

"I wondered when we would hit one of those," Aeolian muttered, crossing over and tossing a handful of extra blue radiance at the angry sounding work. "Phew, it's a tough one, lend a bit more power, lad, it's going to absorb a lot."

Frowning, Terry spun more blue light and dropped it onto the cover of the book, watching it sink in before he noticed what looked like letters and sentences falling out of the bottom of the pages. They turned to white ash and blew away before they hit the ground, the crackling and popping noises diminishing as the letters trickled off to nothing. A final shake of the book and it flew away obediently as if nothing odd had occurred. Terry stared after it then turned to Aeolian who wore such a smug expression it was nearly funny.

"Listen and learn, young chela, listen and learn, and don't roll your eyes like that, you'll hurt something," the older man huffed in amusement. "You know how laws are made? What do they teach in school these days! Very well! If someone wants to make a new law they first write it up, test it against existing laws to see if it contravenes anything and if it can be counteracted easily. Once they are happy with the wording and the form, they put it to the Wizengamot who debate it and give it to their own law firms to pull apart then they eventually vote on it. If it is passed, it becomes Law, a magically binding Law that is registered in the Archival volumes pertaining to that particular branch of law. With me so far?"

"It's not law until it is ratified by the Wizengamot and recorded in the Archives."

"Good. Now, the Archive protects its own tomes; it will not allow them to be altered or erased or defaced in any way, except by order of the Wizengamot. There is a particular kind of magic that protects the new laws and only allows the genuine version of that law to be recorded in the Archive. The correction or amendment is recorded along side the original order, nothing is erased so that a trail of changes and alterations can be tracked."

"Okay, understood, but what just happened?"

"Give me a minute, you impatient cub! This section of the Archives has been cut off from the source of the Archival magic for nearly a hundred years. The lawyers have had free and unsupervised access to the books of law, making changes and amendments with a free and generous hand. Obviously someone made changes to an existing law, er, unlawfully; using an erasing spell or simply removing a statute or altering the wording to change the meaning of the law. Because of the amount of discharge and magic it took to correct the illegal changes, I would say that was an old correction and one with far-reaching consequences."

"Explain."

"All that spluttering and hissing changed the tome in question but it also changed every single copy ever made of that book, the decisions made based upon the altered law and any other changes to other texts, either here in the Archives or out there in the world at large. Every single lawyer's office will have felt the change going through and every single text will have the changes recorded in big bold bright red lettering so no one can miss it. It is my guess that there are some law firms going quietly insane out there right at this very minute and quite a few people scurrying around trying to cover their bums as they are hung out to dry." The little man laughed maliciously, unable to speak further for quite some time.

"I wonder what just changed," Terry mused. "I hope nothing bad happened."

Aeolian spluttered into silence then patted his friend's leg in passing. "Them's the breaks, Lad, sometimes making things right causes problems you wish didn't happen and solves other problems you really couldn't cope with. Yin and yang, balance, all that sort of philosophical crap; not our job to worry about it, ours is simply to correct the mistakes and cheating lies of past generations as quickly and as smoothly as possible. Best we get this lot cleaned up before the ramifications of that one change lead to other, less salubrious changes. Take heart though, changes made by one generation are often overruled and reversed by a future generation and we may find our amendments cancel each other out so there are no repercussions in the real world."

Terry shuddered and began to reshelve as fast as he could, tossing out as much magic into the spluttering books as he had available. Aeolian smiled a little sadly and hurried to keep up with his colleague's hurried pace.

oo0oo

There was an air of suppressed glee and subdued chaos in the corridors as Terry made his slow and weary way toward the Aurors' side of the building and their secured apparition point. A pair of young witches in business robes giggled together by the brass gates of the elevator, gossiping as hard as they could, gave him a clue.

"… and then a wave of sparks and bright red light shot out into the hallway, like a Howler it was. '**The laws pertaining to the incarceration of non-humans under such conditions are very clear and these charges are hereby dismissed as unlawful**,' something like that but all very pompous. Then another voice came blasting out saying **'the castration of any centaur found outside the designated area was also unlawful and the writs were hereby voided as of this moment'**. It just kept on for ages, all sorts of things being cancelled and called illegal, unconstitutional and outside the jurisdiction of the office. Libby from Control came out with her hands over her ears and could barely breathe for the ash floating around in the department. Half their books and reference texts went up in smoke, she told me."

A young Auror came hurrying down the hallway, a smoke blackened book in his hand and a look of utter shock on his face. The girls squealed and grabbed his arm exclaiming over his gob smacked expression and demanding to know what happened. "My book exploded. I was studying the laws on child protection and my book exploded," he gasped.

Terry pulled back a little and waited for the next carriage on the lifts, exiting in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rather carefully. Aurors were running around, voices raised and tempers frayed as he carefully made his way down toward his customary exit point. Before he could reach the secured area, Kingsley Shacklebolt espied him and beckoned him over imperiously.

"Well, can you explain this?" he demanded, holding out the shredded remains of a text on property and inheritance law.

Terry sighed. "We put the Archival books back on the proper shelves," he said softly, glancing at his feet. "Unfortunately, a hundred years worth of cheating, lies and unlawful altering of the written laws were also corrected in the last few hours. The Archive has reverted to the original state of the law and anything that was illegally altered has been fixed, despite the problems it will cause. Sorry, but you cannot screw around with the Archives and expect there to be no repercussions, that is just naïve."

Kingsley sat down hard. "So what now?" he asked softly, a wash of horror flowing over him.

"You're going to have to relearn the laws of the land and how to apply them. You are going to have to seek clarification from the Wizengamot over some long standing statutes that were based on a lie to begin with. Most of all, you are going to have to deal with the fallout of a hundred years of legal cheating and corruption that was dissolved at the stroke of a spell today, and I really don't envy you the task."

"Damn it, Boot, what the hell are we going to do?" the Auror demanded, scrubbing his shaven scalp distractedly. "Does the Wizengamot know?"

"Oh, they will, in about ten minutes time, I think," Terry said as he took a seat and smiled maliciously. "I'm sure Aeolian is delivering the bad news right now!"

oo0oo

"What did you do?" the Supreme Mugwump screamed furiously as the small man took centre stage on the floor of the Wizengamot.

"I did nothing, except clean up after the hundred years of corruption and graft that has flourished under your noses. You allowed the Law to be controlled by the lawyers with no checks or balances, no impartial and incorruptible overseers to keep the line. And now you are going to pay for it. Now the chickens come home to roost; now the fat is in the fire and any other bloody cliché you want to trot out at this point. You are screwed and there's not a damned thing you can do about it because the magic looks after its own, regardless of what we mere humans want."

"How can we stop it or fix it?" The Chief Justice asked quietly into the ringing silence.

Aeolian sighed deeply and scrubbed at his prickly beard. "You can't, except by righting the wrongs and fixing the broken. Track down the problems and see if there are solutions, if there are other ways to solve the issues; but apart from that, just deal with it."

"Its going to change the way we do business with other countries and how we relate to other species," the Chief Justice said softly, the wheels and gears in his head already turning.

"And is that such a bad thing?" Aeolian asked a half smile on his face.

"Perhaps not."

The End (of part two)

08/03/2008

**Author's Note:** So, there you go, hope you enjoyed this installment. Thank you for your support over the last few months, I really do appreciate it and thanks again to Zarathrusta who betaed this piece of fiction, whipping it into a readable shape with unfailing skill.

I started writing an installment about Severus but he has taken over and is demanding a full length tale, so perhaps I will tackle Hermione and Draco next, or Lavender and Crabbe, who knows. So, until next time, lights out, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite. LOL


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